


The Last Part of Me

by Escalus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Episode: s03e11 Alpha Pact, Episode: s03e12 Lunar Ellipse, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mentions of Rape, POV Multiple, Pain, Painful Sex, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 53,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8310283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escalus/pseuds/Escalus
Summary: Scott has been with the Alpha Pack for three years, even though he still holds himself apart from them. While he tries to thwart the Demon Wolf’s plans when he can, he has failed repeatedly. He’s emotionally exhausted and close to either pushing Deucalion into killing him or giving into the urge to be part of the pack for real.However, things change when an old friend arrives, but they don't change for the better.





	1. Apathy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This alternative universe story relies on three important premises that build upon what was stated in the show.
> 
> 1\. Deucalion is as intelligent and dangerous as the other characters believed. He didn’t spend the entirety of Alpha Pact and Lunar Ellipse waiting to see what Jennifer was going to do. He had a plan to thwart her and he executed it.
> 
> 2\. Deucalion’s insanity is more pronounced, though it doesn’t make him less dangerous. While Marin Morrell stated that he had “piled up bodies in a narcissistically psychotic effort to form his perfect pack,” we never saw that madness other than his murder of Ennis. 
> 
> 3\. Scott was still a teenage boy with relatively little experience in combat or dealing with dangerous psychotics. In other words, true alpha or not, he was still totally outmatched by Deucalion. This should not be taken as a slur against Scott; he still tried to be a good person and a hero. It just removes the ‘plot power’ that a television show requires; in this world, the hero doesn’t always win. 
> 
> In addition, there are certain sexual situations in this story that might make the reader wonder why it is not labeled “BDSM.” BDSM is a legitimate form of sexual expression that can be healthy and fulfilling for the people participating in it. The situations depicted in this work are meant to be unhealthy coping mechanisms, horror scenarios, or a combination of both. I would not want to imply in any way that they are connected to BDSM practice.

**NOW:**

Scott woke to the sound of someone knocking on his door. Because sleep and memory were both treacherous, he believed for a moment that he was home. He believed that his mother could be the person at the door; she could be trying to get him to stir and trying to tell him she had breakfast ready downstairs. Maybe she was going to remind him he had to get to class or early lacrosse practice or maybe she was going to remind him that it was the weekend and he had promised to do some chores. He had rolled over to beg for a few more minutes but then he opened his one good eye.

It was enough of a clue to dispel his delusions. No, he wasn’t in his room at home. He was still in the same crappy motel room in Montevideo with its faded off-white wallpaper featuring an endless line of cheap-looking roses. The same empty, crappy room where he had fell into fitful sleep the night before. He threw the thin covers off in bitter frustration. He hadn’t been to high school for three years. His mother wasn’t downstairs; she probably wouldn’t ever wake him up like that again.

Pulling himself out of the bed, he caught his reflection in the mirror hanging over the flimsy dresser. He suspected his mother would have barely recognized him. His hair had gotten long, longer than it had been when he was a sophomore; it was shaggy and ill-kempt. He kept telling himself to get a haircut, but he couldn’t make himself care enough to actually do it. He had a bandage over his right eye, and it made his hair stick out at weird angles. He was more muscular than when he was in school, and he certainly had more tattoos. In addition to the lines around his left bicep, he had a band of thirty-seven tally marks around the right bicep. He also had had a stylized skull drawn over his heart; getting that one had really hurt but not as much as the reason for it had hurt.

What really would have confused his mother were the scars. He couldn't see them fully in the mirror, but there were four parallel scars, angry and pale, across his back; the ends of two of them could be seen snaking around his side. He had told his mother that he wouldn’t scar any more, and it hadn’t been a lie when he said it. It turned out that a werewolf could scar, if someone really, really wanted to make sure that they did. The right solution of wolfsbane would make the flesh twist and pucker as any normal human's would.

Whoever it was at the door knocked again; Scott called out for them to wait a moment. He tried to remember how to say that in Spanish but then gave up. If the person didn’t understand English, they’d get the idea when he didn’t open the door immediately. He slid on the same pair of sweat pants he had been wearing the night before, contemplated and disregarded an array of wadded-up t-shirts, and ambled to the door.

Scott didn’t remove the chain; he’d learned to be careful when things happened that he didn’t expect. Through the cracked door, he saw Ethan. “Hey,” the twin said. “Breakfast! I have muffins.” He waved a bag in front of the door so that the smell could waft in. The bag smelled really, really good.

Scott closed the door, hesitating to open it all the way. As tempting as the muffins were, he’d have to spend time with Ethan in order to get them. Ethan had been getting on his nerves lately. It was like the other alpha tried to pretend that he wasn’t a part of the group that had ruined Scott's life.

Still, he was hungry; his stomach rumbled at the traces of the muffins' aroma. Scott unchained the door and let Ethan in with what he hoped was a neutral expression on his face.

Ethan smiled, annoyingly perky today, and held two cups in addition to the bag. “I brought coffee as well. Who would have thought that Uruguay would have good muffins?” He walked into the room and Scott shut the door behind him.

Scott went and sat back down on his bed and scratched at the back of his head. “Why wouldn’t Uruguay have good muffins?” 

Ethan shrugged at the question, determined not to let Scott ruin his mood. “It doesn’t seem like a Uruguayan specialty? I don’t know.” He handed a cup of coffee to Scott.

Scott took it but then glanced at the clock by the bed. “You got me up at six o’clock in the morning for muffins? What the fuck, dude?” He wasn’t really that angry; he just didn’t like getting up this early.

Ethan laughed as if they had done this before, as if they were friends. If he kept that up, Scott was actually going to get angry. “I’ve got my reasons. First, I wanted to bring you muffins. And coffee. And I also wanted to check your eye. It should be healed by now.” 

Scott stood up without saying another word and went into the bathroom. He grabbed a wet washcloth and the first-aid kit. A long time ago, he would have been surprised to learn that he would need anything like a first-aid kit ever again. Now, he needed it all the time. Ethan had pulled up one of the rickety motel chairs up next to the bed. He tapped a spot with one hand. “Sit.”

Scott was fuzzy-minded and grumpy, but someone did need to look at the eye. Carefully, Ethan took a pair of scissors and cut open the bandage. Then he took the wet washcloth and cleaned the dried blood away. The twin sighed in relief. “It looks all right to me. How’s the vision?”

Scott looked around the room and when there didn’t have any problems with his normal sight, he let his eyes go red. “Good on both fronts.”

Ethan muttered something about thanking God and then tried to hand him his coffee again. “Drink this before it gets cold.”

“What is this about? Couldn’t it have waited until after the sun came up or something?” Scott groused. “I mean, checking my eye could have kept until this afternoon.”

“Well, first, I happen to know it’s your birthday.” Ethan dug a muffin out of the bag and handed it to him. “So, Happy Birthday.”

Scott had forgotten that today it was, indeed, his birthday. Well, it was six in the morning; he imagined people forgot a lot of things when they were woken up that early. “Uh, thanks.” He rubbed at his undamaged eye. “Do I want to know what this is about?”

“We’re going into Montevideo,” Ethan promised. “You, me, and my brother.” 

“Why would I do that?” Scott demanded. He had the strangest feeling he was being railroaded. 

“When’s the last time you bought yourself new clothes? When’s the last time you went to a movie?” Ethan tried to smile persuasively. “Don’t you want to go do something fun on your birthday?”

“Not with you,” Scott snapped back. “There’s plenty I want to do on my birthday.” He was going to go on a rant but his ire dissipated as quickly as it had formed. It wasn’t worth it.

“Well, what do you have to lose?” Ethan was trying to sound reasonable. “You can go with us, or you can sit here and sulk, like you do every day. I know it’s not what you really want, but … none of us have what we really want.”

Scott took a bite out of the muffin. Everything that Ethan had said was correct. “What the hell. I get to change first, don’t I?”

**THEN:**

“I’m not going to let them kill you, but if you know something, if you know where they are …”

“The Nemeton. If you find that, you’ll find Jennifer." Marin assured him. "Find the Nemeton.”

Kali sneered at them both with her usual disdain. “Just how are you going to stop us from killing her? You’re a kid; you aren’t even an alpha yet.” She took a step forward to make good on her threat.

“Now, now, Kali,” Deucalion intervened. “We’ve already established a precedent that every once in a while we should indulge ourselves and let dangerous Emissaries live. I have a mind to let Mr. McCall keep his promise.” 

Kali growled and turned to Deucalion. The female alpha looked like she was seconds away from launching herself at the Demon Wolf. Deucalion feigned disinterest. Scott kept a grip on Marin’s arm; he didn’t really know how he was going to protect her if Deucalion relented, but he would try. Marin was not panicking, but instead she watched the conflict between alphas with interest. The twins were looking anywhere but at the scene, as if Mommy and Daddy were fighting.

“Fine,” Kali submitted sourly. “But you were so eager to kill her a moment ago.”

“I changed my mind,” Deucalion answered airily. “It is my prerogative. I also have a new idea, inspired by another precedent that was established tonight. It is now permissible to share each other’s strategies. Isn't that right, Marin?”

Marin stiffened under Scott’s grasp. 

“Scott, I’ll leave Marin to your care while the rest of us look for the Nemeton. When you are done with her, we’ll meet up.” Deucalion smiled. “As a side note, why don’t you ask her how I knew there was someone with the potential to become a true alpha in Beacon Hills? I think you’ll find the answer **quite interesting.** ”

Under the Demon Wolf’s direction, the rest of the Alpha Pack silently left the clearing. Scott helped Marin to her feet, but he was thinking about what Deucalion had implied. How **had** Deucalion known that he had that potential? He hadn’t known until a few days ago.

“Yes,” said Marin, carefully, as if reading his mind. “I was the one who told Deucalion that you had the potential to become a true alpha. I knew that he wouldn't be able to resist trying to add you to his pack.”

“How did you know?” Scott demanded angrily. Why had she done it? So many people were dead because the Alpha Pack had come to Beacon Hills; so many more people could die, including his mother.

“Alan told me the moment he realized that you had been bitten. He was so excited by it, and he was so very proud of you.“ Marin looked him square in the face without flinching even though her wound was still bleeding. “I immediately arranged to come here to see if it was true for myself, but I hadn’t planned to tell Deucalion about you until I discovered that there was something else here in Beacon Hills.”

“The kanima. You mislead Allison about the translation to stall us.” Scott couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You used me as bait.”

“I was trying to do what I have always done: maintain balance. You’ve seen the Alpha Pack, Scott. Do they look balanced to you?” Marin argued. “I knew they had to be stopped; I knew **Deucalion** had to be stopped. I also knew that I wasn’t powerful enough on my own to stop them. You’ve seen the others fight, Scott, but you’ve not seen Deucalion employ his full strength. To make matters worse, he is also highly intelligent and a paranoid obsessive, so he wouldn't easily be caught at a disadvantage. There's a reason that Jennifer must resort to such a dark ritual to defeat him. My position as Emissary to the Alpha Pack was fragile, so I knew I had to wait until I found something powerful enough to destroy them without a chance of failure. I thought the kanima, in alpha form, would be powerful enough.”

Scott glowered at her and then relaxed his grip on her arm. “He wants me to kill you for this.”

“He underestimates you because you are young.” Marin kept her eyes on him. “But you understand that sometimes necessity requires you to use people without their knowledge or consent.” 

Scott studied the ground beneath his feet and the broken line of mountain ash. He wasn’t proud of what he had done when necessity had demanded it, so he guessed he didn’t have any room to talk. 

“The moment I knew Gerard had taken control of the kanima – Peter witnessed it and he told Derek who told Alan who told me – I called Deucalion and told him that your potential existed. They were on their way the next day. I wasn’t expecting you to defeat Gerard or Peter and Lydia to defeat the kanima.” Marin grabbed Scott by the arm. “This isn’t over, so you have to decide what you are going to do now. I know it isn’t fair, but neither Jennifer nor Deucalion are going to wait.”

Scott led her out of the forest.

**NOW:**

Aiden had been as mystified as Scott was by his brother’s insistence that they go into town. Since Aiden knew no Spanish whatsoever and Scott knew just enough to order dinner and pay the check, they were sitting outside while Ethan, whose Spanish was pretty good, made arrangements for something. They weren’t quite sure what he was doing. 

So Aiden watched Scott and Scott watched Aiden. They didn’t like each other, but they didn’t hate each other anymore. Scott guessed that was progress. 

“How’s your eye?” Aiden said awkwardly. Scott guessed he was bored. 

“Good as new.” He could at least answer, Scott supposed. This whole day was turning into one weird, unwanted conversation after another. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Aiden said, but he didn’t wait for a reply. “Why do you keep doing it?”

“Keep doing what?”

“You keep defying Duke.” Aiden says. “He tells us to do something, you don’t like it, you try to stop him, and he beats the shit out of you. You’ve been doing it for three years now. “

“Why do you care?” 

Aiden shook his head. “He’s going to kill you one day. You almost lost an eye this time; even alphas can't heal from all wounds.” 

“I know exactly when he’s going to kill me, Aiden. Again, why do you care?”

Scott felt Aiden growing irritated in the face of his apathy. “Maybe I don’t want you to die? Maybe I don’t want to have to hold you down again? Remember when he ripped out part of your tongue? When Ethan and I had to hold you down while Kali sewed it back on? It was gross.”

“He’s not going to kill me until I’m strong enough to hurt him. Not until I’m a threat.” Scott shrugged. “Deucalion gets what he wants, and he wants a true alpha in his pack. As long as I’m not able to really hurt him in our fights, he has what he wants. And no one asked you to hold me down.”

Aiden growled. “Kali did. If we hadn’t done that, you wouldn't be able to speak now. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Scott looked around to make sure there weren’t any humans looking directly at them, pulled his hands out of the pockets of his hoodie and wiggled his fingers at Aiden. His claws were at least two inches long and pitch black. He shoved them back so no one could see.

“You still can’t shift back?” Aiden frowned. 

“Not even for a second. Not once since Partridge.” Scott tried to sound angry, but he couldn’t make the effort.

“I didn’t have anything to do with that. I didn’t know what he had planned.” Aiden protested. 

“And you would have defied him if you did? Aiden, don’t lie. You’re as scared of him as I am. You’ve been scared of him since Beacon Hills and what he did to Ennis.” Scott looked away. “You’ll kill anyone he tells you. I remember. I remember what **you** did to the people who helped me when I ran away.” 

Aiden shook his head. “You have some place to go. Ethan and I don’t; it’s too late for us to leave or even defy him. We leave the pack, we die. We defy him, he’ll either torture us like he does you, or he’ll kill us.”

“I have some place to go?” Scott shot back. “Why do you think I went along with Ethan’s happy-fun birthday plans when I didn’t want to? Because I haven’t gone shopping for new clothes in eighteen months, and I need them. Do I have to show you my claws again?”

“You know what I mean. So you can’t go out in public. You’ve got a family; you’ve got a pack that would protect you.”

“Yeah. Until you guys came back and killed them all, or an evil witch sacrificed them. If you don’t have any place to go, then neither do I.”

“Then why keep defying him? It doesn’t matter to him if you’re hurt. Wouldn’t it be easier just to do what he wants?”

Scott thought about not answering him, but maybe they’d leave him alone if he did. “Because it’s the last part of me. He’s taken my family, my friends, my girl, my future. I’m never going to go to college; I’m never going to be a vet now. The only thing he hasn’t taken is my refusal to be what he wants me to be. Ever since I got bit, people have been trying to turn me into something else. Peter wanted a soldier; Derek wanted a beta; Gerard wanted a spy. I didn’t let them turn me into something I didn’t want to be, and I’m not going to let Deucalion do it either.”

“Even if it ends up killing you?”

Scott didn’t answer Aiden out loud, but they both knew the answer was **yes.**

**THEN:**

“Good afternoon, Alan.” said Deucalion, warmly. Kali and the twins were backing him up but they didn’t seem to share his good humor. “I’m here for Scott. I have a promise to keep.”

Deaton watched as Scott emerged from the back with Lydia and Stiles. 

Scott swallowed; he was still soaking wet from the ice bath. “I know where she’s keeping the sacrifices.” 

“I know that you do, Scott. Our pack will go and free them now.” Deucalion gestured for him to come. “Don’t worry. We have hours before the lunar eclipse. The darach can’t possibly know that we know where they are.”

“I find your timing suspicious,” Deaton interrupted. “How did you know these things? How are you here now?”

“I know it is impossible for supernatural creatures to eavesdrop on your sanctum, Alan. However, during my last visit I placed some electronic listening devices while I was doing ... other things.” Deucalion gloated. Behind him, Scott clearly saw Kali’s face darken and the twin's pale. “They do not have a lot of range, but they are remarkably inexpensive. I’m happy to hear that both you and Scott remember that a deal is a deal. I hope we won’t have trouble with the rest of you?”

“No.” Scott spoke out. He didn’t mean to make it sound like a command, but he could sense that the Alpha Pack might become violent if the others were too aggressive. While Deaton and Lydia were anxious, Stiles looked mutinous. The last thing Scott wanted was for his friend to smart off to Deucalion and get killed. “They won’t cause trouble. I’m coming.” He looked back at the others. “I know you know what to do. I’ll be fine.”

Scott went with them out the door. The twins got on their bikes and Kali tossed a set of keys to Scott. “You know where we’re going.” He hoped that his friends could get to the Nemeton before this pack did. 

“We’re going to need to get something to track their smell,” said Scott. 

“We have already been to the Stilinski home, your home, and the Argent's apartment,” remarked Deucalion from the driver’s seat. “All you need do is take us to the location.” 

It turned out that they hadn’t even needed the clothing they had stolen. Scott had not even finished parking the car when Deucalion cocked his ears. The blind alpha got out of the car: “Clever. As expected.”

“What do you mean?” Before he could answer, he heard what the man was talking about. It was one of Argent’s emitters. Finding the stump and the root cellar’s doors were not a problem after that. Scott tried to surreptitiously keep an eye out for the others. They could have gotten here by then.

“Looking for something?” whispered Kali, sneaking up behind him. She chuckled. “We trashed the other vehicles before we came in. Your friends are going to be otherwise occupied. We’re all you got.”

“Scott, please come here.” Deucalion called out. He was at the root cellar door with Aiden. “This part will be for you.”

There was a line of mountain ash blocking the doorway. It seemed that Jennifer wasn’t unintelligent either. 

“I don’t know what you expect me to do about it,” Scott told him. “We can call Stiles or Lydia or Deaton; they can break the line.”

“We could, but we’re not,” smiled Deucalion. “You are going to break the mountain ash line. You nearly did it before.”

Scott’s mouth dropped open. “How do you know about that?” 

“It seems your employer feels confident that his younger sister won’t share confidence with me. You and I know differently, don’t we?”

“Then you know that I failed before. Why risk it?”

“I have faith in you, Scott. You know that you and your friend’s parents are in danger as long as they are in Jennifer’s clutches. I know that you won’t stop until they are freed.” Deucalion gestured for him to start. 

“What if I can’t?” Scott was close to panic. “What if she comes back? Let me call someone.”

“No. Sometimes, Scott, to get what you want, you have to risk things. I have confidence in me and my pack. I have confidence in you. We have plenty of time before the lunar eclipse; we can wait.”

Scott scowled at him. Deucalion was playing with people’s lives, and he had no doubt that the Demon Wolf would let Jennifer kill everyone in order to get what he wanted. But that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that his mom, the sheriff, and Mr. Argent were safe. If that meant he was going to have to push through the mountain ash, than that was what he was going to do.

Just as the last time he had tried to do this, the pain was intense. He felt like he was being set on fire and getting slammed up against a wall at the same time. Like before, he tried to push through it, drawing upon the strength he knew he had, the knowledge that he could heal, and the need to save the people beyond the barrier. There were so many reasons to stop: the burning, sharp pain running up his hands, the fact that he knew he was playing into the Demon Wolf’s hands, and the little voice that told him that he was in reality a tremendous fuck-up and he was lying to himself if he thought he could save anyone. Below it all, hidden from everyone else, lay the fear that this was meant to be; that his future had never been his own. He was always going to **do** this; he was always going to **be** this.

He pushed the reasons not to succeed away. The pain grew so much in intensity that it forced a scream from his lips, and he thought that soon the barrier would force him away as it had done before. He didn't give up; he kept pushing and pushing and pushing until he wasn’t even aware of anything else but that thought. Things went white for a split second and then the pressure vanished. He was through. 

Deucalion had that irritating smirk on his face. “Welcome to the Alpha Pack, Alpha McCall.” He gestured to the twins. “Free the sacrifices. Our newest member should say goodbye before we leave.” 

“Leave?” Kali and Scott shouted in unison. Scott immediately coughed after the shout; his body was shot through with pain from the damage he took while breaking the line. 

“Of course. While I have my suspicions about the Darach’s power, there is no profit in testing her. Her relationship with Derek indicates she’ll focus on him for the next few hours. I intend to be far away before the eclipse begins,” Deucalion explained.

“I gave Derek an ultimatum,” snarled Kali. 

“And you would have had plenty of time to carry it out if you hadn’t foolishly allowed your Emissary to live.” Deucalion replied nastily. “Ahhhh, here are the parents.”

His mother was happy to see him. She came up to him and gave him a tight hug; he winced. There were no visible wounds, but breaking the barrier had still hurt. The sheriff was suspicious of these people he had never met. Chris Argent immediately knew who they were and he was on his guard. 

Deucalion regarded them with that off-center stare he had; he wasn’t looking at them but he knew very well where they were standing. “You have nothing to fear from my pack. Alpha McCall has purchased your freedom. I would recommend that you head toward the road and move toward town. Your other children should be along soon enough to rescue you, but if you are discovered by Miss Blake, I can’t guarantee your safety.” He gestured for them to head back towards the road. There was no reason not to follow. 

His mother immediately turned to him. “Purchased? What do you mean by that? What does he mean, Scott?” The sheriff looked like he did not quite understand what was going, but he knew it was bad. Chris knew exactly what happened.

“I joined his pack, Mom,” he explained. It suddenly became real to him yet what he was going to have to do; he was going to have to leave. “I had to. We needed to save you and the Sheriff and Mr. Argent.”

Chris shook his head. “Scott, you don’t have to go.”

His mother was suddenly frantic. “What do you mean ‘go’?”

Scott looked at Deucalion, walking in front of him. He knew exactly what the Demon Wolf would do if he didn’t honor his promise. “Yes, I do. I gave my word. I have to go with him.” 

“Melissa,” said Mr. Argent, interrupting what was going to be his mother either scolding him or his mother attacking Deucalion. “We need to move. We’re not safe here.” He gave her a look that told her that it wasn’t only the Darach they had to worry about. 

The look in his mother’s eyes would haunt him for a long time. “I’ll be okay,” he said. He was lying. “Just be safe.”

“It’s time to go, Scott,” Deucalion intruded, gently, as they reached the road and the vehicles. “They will be in a lot less danger, once we are far away from here.” Scott believed he was sincere. Now that he had won, the Alpha of Alphas was being generous. It didn’t occur to the blind werewolf that since he was the cause of all this, his generosity would be unwelcome.

The sheriff came up to hold on to Melissa. He was still too new to this, but Scott had the feeling he recognized extortion when he saw it. His mother didn’t really understand, but Scott watched her face fold in on itself. She felt the truth. 

Scott got into the car with Kali and Deucalion. He watched his mother, the sheriff, and Mr. Argent start down the road. He promised himself that he would come back; he would find a way to get free of these people and come home.

That was a lie, too.

**NOW:**

“See,” Ethan exclaimed as they came back into the motel room. “You have to admit that it wasn’t as bad as you thought it was going to be.”

Scott shrugged. “It didn’t completely suck.” He had new clothes, and he had really needed things that fit better. He had actually put on a lot muscle in the last year-and-a-half. It had been odd, though, having to have someone help him shop. The clothes he had bought were different than that he would have usually bought. 

“You’re an adult now; you aren’t a teenager,” Ethan had explained. 

“I still need pockets!” He had protested but not too much. Ultimately, he didn’t care about what he wore. Any clothes were good enough as long as he could hide his hands when he was in public.

Scott dumped the bags next to the flimsy dresser. He’d also bought a new suitcase for when they moved on, and they always moved on. After he’d done that, he flung himself on the bed, nameless tension eating at him. Ethan took the chair next to him. Aiden had already returned to their own room. 

“When do you think we’re going to leave?” Scott asked. “Jorge’s taken care of his obligations here.” Scott suddenly frowned with distaste at his own words. His 'obligations' had been his betas, whom Jorge had ruthlessly hunted down when the possibility of joining the Alpha Pack was presented to him. Jorge reminded him of no one more than Peter; he was an alpha steeped in esoteric knowledge and casually amoral. Deucalion, it seemed, wanted someone savvier with magical practice and ritual, and he certainly didn’t want to replace Morrell with another emissary. 

“At least he isn’t fucking sassy,” Scott grumbled. Jorge was taciturn and brusque and brutal. It made Scott feel better that he could easily take him in a fight. When he had tried to stop Jorge from killing one of his betas right in front of them, he had thrown the Uruguayan across the room. Of course, Deucalion had nearly gouged out his eye in retaliation. 

“I don’t know,” said Ethan quietly. “Deucalion doesn’t tell me much anymore.”

“He doesn’t tell me anything, but then I fight him all the time, so I understand that.” Scott rolled over to look at Ethan closely. He could sense discomfort coming from the twin; he wondered if it had anything to do with the nameless anxiety he was feeling.

Now it was Ethan’s turn to shrug and look pensive. When their eyes met, he suddenly smiled. “It was fun, wasn’t it?”

“Dude, what do you want me to say? It was better than sitting in this room? Sure.” Scott didn’t want to be cross, but he felt that Ethan was pushing for something. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Ethan said with a catch in his voice. He wasn’t insulted; he was sad.

“We’re not friends.” Scott did not know why he just said it out loud; it burst out of him without meaning to. He had come to the realization at that moment, when Ethan had wanted him to confirm that the trip had been fun. “You want us to be friends, but we’re not friends.”

Ethan didn’t respond. He let his eyes drift to one of the mirrors on the wall.

“I know. I know why you want to be friends. I know you want more than that.” Scott jabbed at him. It felt good to express himself like this. “But we can’t be friends. You helped drag me away from everything I had or ever wanted. You’re one of the reasons I’m here in this crappy motel room more than six thousand miles away from home.”

Ethan nods. “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, I **am** sorry. I can leave.”

Scott shook his head. “No. Just …” Now he knew why Ethan had been bothering him all day. The other alpha did want to be friends, but all that did was remind Scott of everything he’d lost. It was like a splinter in his thumb he couldn’t dig out. It was his goddamned birthday, and as much as he tried to pretend that it didn’t matter, it did. If he was alone, he might claw out his own throat. “Don’t go. I don’t want to be alone.” 

Ethan nodded but then looked at a loss as to what to do next.

“You miss Danny,” Scott rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “You still miss him after all these years, but not just because you cared for him. You miss him because he was … normal? That’s not the right word. I don’t know what the right word is, but I know what it should mean. You went on dates, didn’t you?”

Ethan nodded. “Yeah.”

“You went to the movies. You sat with each other at lunch. You studied. It was what people do. He made you feel like a person. You know we can’t be people, not in this pack. We’re prizes. We’re pawns.”

Ethan nodded once again. “You’re right. We can’t be people. Is it wrong to want that? Don’t you want that?”

“That’s all I do want, but I can’t have it. I want to go ice skating again. I want to make out in a car again. I want to play Call of Duty until four in the morning and I’m so tired that the screen begins to blur. I want to go to practice; I want to go to fucking chemistry!” He suddenly snarled at the innocent roof. “I want to feel real. Allison and I were parked in a car, and Jackson was locked away in a police van, and we talked about college and the future and then we … had sex. I never felt more real, more human, than that night." 

Scott turned to the other alpha. “Being with someone you love. Being with someone you care about. That’s for humans. That’s even for fucking werewolves, but it’s not for us. We get to be part of something bigger.”

Ethan replied sadly. “And what would that be?”

“Deucalion’s perfect pack and all that means. How can we be friends?” Scott bit his lip so hard that blood came out. The pain was slight and quickly gone. It felt strangely better than what he was feeling otherwise. 

“What can we be?” Ethan demanded with real anger. “You think I want this? I wish I’d never gone to fucking Beacon Hills. I was … happier when I didn’t know what I was missing. That’s why Duke doesn’t tell me stuff anymore. He doesn’t trust me either.”

“Why me? “ Scott asked, but he already knew the answer. 

“You’re not like us. You didn’t kill to get here. You don’t want to kill at all.”

“I did kill. I killed Partridge.” The claws on the ends of his fingers reminded him often enough of that. 

“He was a real monster. No one could blame you for it. You did it to protect others; we did it to belong. “ Ethan said bitterly. “How do you become friends with someone like Kali? With someone like me? That’s why …”

Scott understood what this was: loneliness. He felt it too as a dull ache behind his chest. He didn’t know how bad it was for Ethan or for anyone but himself. He wondered if all the others felt it, too, when they were lying in bed alone. The only people, he reasoned, who never felt lonely were the ones who felt they didn’t need anyone else. And who was that? “We can’t be friends.” He said it again and then reached over and turned out the light in the room. “But we can help each other.”

Ethan, in the dark, stuttered. “What?”

“You don’t have to,” Scott said. “I’m offering because … it’s all I can offer. You can help me, but I can help you.” To emphasize what he was saying, he kicked off his shoes and began to undress. 

Ethan was thinking. He wasn’t expecting this. “I never … I never realized you saw me that way.”

“I don’t,” Scott admitted. “But you know I haven’t touched anyone except to punch them for three years? Or be punched by them? I haven't kissed anyone. I haven’t even shaken anyone’s hand since Partridge. I told you I don’t want to be alone. Do you?”

Ethan sat there in the dark, but Scott could smell his arousal. Scott didn’t know what he’d do if Ethan turned him down; he had to do something to get rid of this feeling. “Come on. It’s better than nothing.”

Ethan finally did slide into the bed with him, but slowly, reluctantly, as if he were telling himself he’d regret it in the morning. Scott would probably regret it as well, but that was for the morning. He’d settle for making it through the night. 

They made out for a while. It was … nice, maybe. He’d not kissed a guy before, but it had been so long since he had kissed anyone. Ethan knew what he was doing, while Scott had to be careful not to actually cut into the twin with his claws, but the intimacy hadn’t really gotten him aroused. He didn’t think it was because Ethan was a guy; Scott had a suspicion that it wouldn’t have mattered who it was.

Ethan noticed it to. “You’re not enjoying this.” 

“I am,” Scott breathed. “I am, but … you’re going to have to do something.”

“Just tell me what it is.” 

Scott whispered in his ear. “Hurt me.” 

Contrary to what Scott imagined, Ethan wasn’t shocked. It seemed he understood; maybe he had felt it before himself. The next time they kissed, Ethan had dropped his fangs. They cut into his lips and he moaned at the feeling. He had been right. Scott pushed the thought about what that meant about him out of his head.

Ethan flipped him over and then paused, to see if Scott would fight it. Scott trembled only a moment, but then he relaxed. Ethan replied. “This is really going to hurt.”

“That’s the point. Just do it.” 

It did hurt; it hurt terribly but it didn’t hurt any more than the beatings he had taken at the hands of Deucalion. It was somehow better and cleaner; he knew that the person inflicting the pain wasn’t using him for something he hadn’t asked for. Even when Ethan dug his claws into his sides, it simply made the pain sharper and Scott’s body reacted with greater strength. He craved more.

Torture is an art because the point of torture isn’t maximum pain. At a certain point, at that pinnacle of agony, the mind shuts down, and it becomes unable to answer questions or to obey demands. At a certain point in the cascade of pain, details fade into the white-hot screaming of nerves -- details like your mother’s tears as you drove away, the scent of the girl you loved, the fate of your best friend, the dreams that have crumbled in your hands. That’s what Scott wanted right now: to be free of past, present and future. 

Scott could feel Ethan losing control. It wasn’t the same as losing control to the wolf. Ethan had started with some sensitivity for the person he was with, but as he continued, he grew rougher and rougher. There was need there, but there was also fury, like seething resentment: the fury of a trapped animal. Weren’t they all just trapped animals in the end?

Ethan finally reached his end, holding nothing back, while Scott was almost incapable of coherent thought, letting the waves wash over him. When Ethan came, he bit down so hard that Scott heard the points of his teeth hit his shoulder blade. So sharp was the pain that he came immediately after.

Ecstasy. Oblivion. 

In the quiet afterwards, Scott came back to his senses to feel his heart beat steady. He was happy in a way he hadn’t been in a long time. He felt happy, freed of the burdens of this life he had allowed himself to be drawn into. He knew that by the dawn, he wouldn’t feel this way anymore.

He rolled over to Ethan, who had not said anything. Scott then realized he was crying; the other alpha wasn’t bawling, but he wasn’t smiling. Maybe he had just seen what he had to look forward to. 

Carefully, so as not to cut him with the claws he could no longer retract, Scott used one finger to wipe the tears away. He was content enough to feel empathy for the person next to him. “It’ll be okay,” he whispered, lying once again. “It’ll all be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first attempt at this level of writing, i.e. explicit. Constructive criticism is not only welcome, but desired.


	2. Regret

**NOW:**

Scott took a step back and then another, dodging the pinwheel kicks of Kali. He didn’t try to catch her leg because he wasn’t confident of his own speed and strength. He had tried it once, and she had caught him right upside the head with her other foot. He had found the best way to block her assault was to simply be beyond the range of her legs. Also, her pinwheel kick couldn’t work very well in tight corners.

As he was moving backwards, he stumbled over a tree root and fell on his ass. Kali immediately surged forward and jumped on his chest. He felt ribs crack under her weight. “You’re dead.” Her laugh echoed in the forest. They had left South America and now were in northern Minnesota, marking time while Deucalion plotted their next move.

“I know, I know,” he groused. He hated sparring with Kali. It wasn’t just that she beat him all the time, which she did. She was the best fighter he’d ever seen. It was that she was such a bitch about it.

“And that’s why you should fight without shoes on. You would have sensed the root with your bare feet and been able to prevent yourself from falling with your claws.”

Scott pushed himself up, cursing mentally at Kali and her obsession with those damn toe claws. They were gross. He slid his shoes and socks off. If there was anything he had learned is that when you fight, you fight to win. Even with gross toe claws.

“You’ll thank me. When you are not sure of the terrain, bare feet are best.” Kali walked back across the clearing to begin the next round of sparring. 

“You’ve read Dune?” Scott asked incredulously as he allowed the claws to grow out. Thank God it was only the claws on his hands he had lost control over. 

“Dune?” Kali was looking at him quizzically.

“Science fiction novel? Frank Herbert? ‘When in doubt of your surface, bare feet are best.’” He asked. “They made a movie and a miniseries of it. Stiles made me …” He trailed off. 

Kali watched him with a sneer. “It’s good tactics. Just like when you are on the battlefield, don’t let nostalgia for what has gone before interfere with your focus.” 

Scott wanted to tell her to fuck off, but she was right. He was supposed to be learning how to fight, not reminding himself of things he can never have again. He dropped into position. “I’m ready.” He winced because he said it without thinking. It hadn't been the first time he had made that mistake.

“You fucking idiot. Never tell someone you are fighting that you are ready. They either know it or they’ve lost.” She came for him in a burst of speed. It looked like she was going to bull rush him over. 

He knew better after three years of sparring with her to assume what her tactics was going to be. He decided to meet her charge head with a crouched spring. For once, he timed it just right and drove her back and into the ground. She was fast and tough, but now he had more body mass than she did.

They rolled over and over on the ground, snapping and slashing. He had the advantage and he knew it. He managed to get on top of her and pin her down with his weight, until he realized that his claws were dangerously close to going into her neck. He pulled back, and that lack of attention allowed her to bite his cheek and throw him off. 

Kali sprung to her feet and planted one in the middle of his back, pushing him down into the dirt. “Dead.”

Scott felt the blood running down his face. He had a shirt he wore for these occasions, nearly ripped to shreds. The blood would stop in a few and it wouldn’t make the shirt any less clean. The pain was minimal; barely anything to get excited about.

“You did it again, McCall. You pulled back.” Kali chided. 

“I could have killed you.” He lifts his claws so she can see them. “This is sparring, not a death match.” 

“It’s fighting, and when you fight, you fight all out. Why do you think Deucalion defeats you so easily, every single time you try to fight him? You never strike to kill. He can take risks because he knows you won’t be going for the death blow.”

Scott looked down at the ground. “I can kill. You were there.”

“Partridge?” Kali snorted. “That wasn’t a fight. That was an assassination.”

Scott’s eyes blazed red at the insult. Well, he thought it was an insult – who could say with Kali? He charged her with a roar and she took a few steps back, as if surprised. He went in with one claw low to rake upwards, but he then switched it up at the last minute with a bite to her arm. 

Her surprise had been a feint. He got a clawed foot in the gut, but he hung on. She punched him, kept on punching him, but he let his weight pull her down. 

“McCall, either start trying to kill me or let go. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

He did let her go. “I should. I should kill you.”

“But you won’t. Not even when you know what I’ve done. Not as long as you have control.” She got up and, as usual, she didn’t give him a hand up. “I know why you can’t draw in your claws. You won’t let yourself.”

“Somatoformic.” He gritted. He was remembering too much about the past. That needed to stop.

“Right. It wasn’t because you killed him; you’re not dumb enough to think you are going to be able to get through this life without killing anyone. It was that you killed him when you weren’t in control, so you are punishing yourself.”

Scott looked at her. “I didn’t know you had a degree in psychology!” He tried his best sneer. He wasn’t very good at them. 

“I have a masters in counseling from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign,” Kali replied nonchalantly. 

“What?” It was a brilliant response.

“Surprising, isn’t it? You shouldn’t punish yourself for Partridge, McCall. You know it was a set up and you know that if you were going to kill anyone, it should have been him. Hell, I was thinking of killing him.”

“Why do you care? Everyone is suddenly so damn caring these days.” He was being mean when she was just offering good advice, but it was fucking Kali so she could take her advice and shove it. “I thought you’d like it that my claws are longer than anyone else’s.”

“As long as they’re useful. Right now, all they do is give you an excuse to hide yourself away. Learn to use them, and you won’t hear me complain.” Kali explained. “Now, are we done for today or do you want to try again?”

Scott gets up. “Why not? It’s not like I have anything else to do with the rest of my life.” Kali smirked; bitterness had no effect on her. 

The woman gestured. “This time, you come at me.” 

**THEN:**

Scott walked through Rotterdam’s financial district, guiding Deucalion. He knew that the blind alpha could easily find his way around the city just as well without him, but he had been insistent that Scott help him. It was the first time in the four months since they had left Beacon Hills that Deucalion had ever asked him to do anything.

“Why me?” There was no point in being subtle about his questions or worried about how he’d be perceived. Scott was homesick, and he really didn’t give a damn if people thought he was a whiner.

Deucalion was pleasant and indulgent. “Various reasons. While I certainly can get around on my own well enough, it is much easier to have someone guide me through places I have never been.”

“You could have brought Kali or the twins.” Scott pointed out. “This is your first meeting with this particular alpha. How do you know I am not going to sabotage it?” 

“Kali does not like to wear shoes,” Deucalion smiled, as if Scott hadn’t already known that. “Most of the time and in most places, people seldom look at other people’s feet, so it is not that much of a problem. The alpha we are going to meet has professional security and they tend to notice things out of the ordinary, such as a woman going barefoot.” 

“And you won’t sabotage it because you don’t know how to sabotage it, Scott. The only things you know about the alpha we will meet is that his name is Nicolas Verhoven and he is a multi-millionaire.” 

“You’re right. I don’t know anything about this. So I’m just your service dog?”

Deucalion frowned. “You have spent too much time around your friend Stilinski. Self-depreciating jokes are more his style. But then again, while everyone was so excited that you were a true alpha, I suspect no one told you of the more practical benefits to the title.”

The paused in front of a skyscraper, covered in reflective glass. Scott checked the paper that Kali had written for him; this was the place. When Scott looked up he saw himself and the Demon Wolf reflected in the building. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought they were normal people.

“Practical benefits.” He spat in bitterness.

“Now, now. Surely, you’ve always felt a bit intimidated when meeting an alpha, right? Peter. Derek. My pack.” He explained. “As a beta, your instinct would be to submit or to fight, true?”

Scott nodded in response and then smiled at himself when he realized what he had done. He didn’t care about being ableist when it came to his kidnapper. “Yes.”

“It is worse when two alphas meet, especially if one alpha is encroaching on another alpha’s territory, as we are doing now. The urge to fight is almost unbearable. Except for you, of course. A true alpha doesn’t provoke the same challenge response in another alpha. It has to do with the fact that you did not take your power, you made it. It makes you an excellent resource in diplomacy.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I certainly will be that.”

“Not yet, but you will. I have every confidence that you will eventually come to appreciate your position in this pack and work towards its ends.” At this point the conversation had to end, because they were interrogated by the receptionist in the building. Nicolas Verhoven was on the top floor – the 23rd – and they could take the elevator. 

In the elevator, Scott was thoughtful. It bugged him that he still didn’t understand his role in this. “Can I ask a question?”

“You certainly can, and you certainly **may**.” Deucalion was not only a Demon Wolf but also a Grammar Nazi. 

“Unless you did it without me noticing, you didn’t kidnap his betas and you aren’t holding them in a bank vault.” 

“Ahhh. I would be remiss if I tried to use the same tactic on every alpha I wished to recruit. If you remember, I did not even let you know that I was trying to recruit you. Marin did that.” He looked up as the elevator rose. “What would you say that Derek’s primary motivation was when we first encountered each other?”

Scott thought about it, but it wasn’t too hard. “Guilt. Guilt you caused.”

“Oh, I know that I caused some of his guilt, but before I ever arrived, he had plenty of it: Guilt over Paige. Guilt over his family’s death. Guilt over Jackson’s reign as the kanima. Guilt over you.”

“Over me?” Scott asked. He was going to ask how Deucalion knew about Paige, but it was obvious: Ennis was the one who had bitten her. 

Deucalion mocked: “'The Bite is a gift.’ Those aren’t just words to Derek; they are a creed. A statement that what he is, is not only natural, but good, in the face of all the people who think that we are monsters and seek our destruction. The circumstances of your turning were a slap in the face to that creed. I daresay it was probably part of the reason you two never really got along.”

“So, that’s why you targeted Cora, Erica, and Boyd? To make him feel guiltier?”

“Absolutely. If guilt becomes unbearable, there is always an option.” Deucalion chuckled. “Become the bad guy. Guilt’s just not our style.”

Scott glowered in the elevator. “You didn’t understand Derek if you thought he would ever join you.”

“We’ll never know, will we? But I got what I wanted anyway. Here we are.” They stepped off the elevator.

Verhoven’s office was like something out of a movie, all modernist furniture and important glass. Scott whistled. This guy was just as rich as the others said he was. 

There was also a lot of security, including four humans with machine guns. He must have known who Deucalion was and planned appropriately. The alpha himself sat behind the desk, with a secretary right behind him. She was obviously one of his betas.

“Good afternoon,” Verhoven announced in only slightly accented English. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” 

“I have come to you with an offer,” Deucalion stated. “My name is Deucalion. This is my associate, Scott McCall. You’ve heard of both of us, I assume?”

Verhoven nodded. “You made sure I would have. The card was a nice touch.” The businessman flashed Scott a business card with the alpha pack symbol on it. 

Deucalion began speaking in a language that Scott didn’t know. If he had had to guess, it would be Russian. Scott stood there while the two of them discussed things. It seemed like Deucalion wanted to give his pitch in private. He kept assembling and disassembling his cane; maybe he was using it as a visual aid? Scott didn’t know that either.

Verhoven affected a practiced disinterest, but Scott could smell pretty much the opposite. After a conversation, the new alpha switched to Dutch. The security guards with the machine guns shuffled out and left. The beta secretary to his right looked a question at her alpha; he indicated that she should stay.

Scott shifted from one foot to another. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he had the worst feeling about this. Obviously, the Dutch alpha was either very good at concealing his emotions or he wasn’t opposed to whatever it was that Deucalion had told him. 

When Verhoven shifted and attacked his secretary with fierce savagery, Scott was stunned. He should have known that this was going to happen. He took a step forward, a cry on his lips, when Deucalion reached out and grabbed his arm. 

“Come now, Scott. You know how this works.” His voice was trying to be reasonable, but the expression on his face was sadistic glee.

Scott snapped and punched Deucalion right in that expression. There was no more time for talking. The fight was brutal, vicious and short. Scott returned to consciousness a few minutes later. His left arm and right leg were still broken and the right side of his face felt like it had been hit by a cement mixer. There was no choice but to lay there as Verhoven and Deucalion chatted above him.

“As you can imagine,” chuckled Deucalion, “it is going to take a while to get him to agree with our methods.”

Verhoven was cleaning his hands with a towel. “Is he worth it?” The man might have been evaluating a new employee. 

Scott turned his head to the side. The secretary was not only dead, she was torn apart, her vacant eyes staring from a spreading pool of blood. “Why?” he croaked. It was the only thing he could ask.

Verhoven looked down at him. “If I wanted to, I could be a billionaire in six months. I’ve been an alpha for fifteen years. I’m bored. Your pack seems a good way not to be bored.” He turned back to Deucalion. “Would you care for some brandy?”

The newest member of the alpha pack took Deucalion over to a couch for a talk about plans over brandy and cigars. Scott lay on the ground, barely able to move. His mind could barely comprehend the cold-blooded murder he had just witnessed. A wetness touched the back of his head. Was he crying? No. It was just the pool of the secretary's blood reaching him across the floor.

**NOW:**

The best part about being in the house in Minnesota is that he had a door with a lock so he thought he could have some privacy. Apparently he had been mistaken about having anything like that.

He woke being unable to breathe. Kali was standing on the bed with her foot on his chest, pushing down. He couldn’t move his body but he did grab her leg with both hands. 

“What the fuck do you think you are doing, McCall?” Kali demanded. She never used his first name. He appreciated that. 

Scott couldn’t answer because he couldn’t breathe. He struggled for breath as he gripped her leg tighter so his claws began to draw blood. If she didn’t move soon, this would need to get violent. 

Finally, she did move, jumping off the bed and landing on the ground. “I don’t need this shit, McCall.”

Scott coughed until he got his breath back. “W-why don't you fucking talk to me like a regular person?” He pulled himself up, still covered by the blankets. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kali pulled a note out of your pocket. “This. Your handwriting. In my room. On my mirror.” Her words were staccato with anger. 

Scott took the note. “You know my handwriting?” Kali was freaking him out recently with the things he was learning about her. 

“Not the damn point. It is your handwriting isn’t it?”

He studied the note: _Why don’t you kill him? You know you want to._ The weird thing was that it was in his handwriting, but he hadn’t written it. He said as much.

Kali’s face told the story of how much she didn’t believe him. “So you are telling me that someone managed to get past seven alpha werewolves to break into this house, someone knew which room I was in, and someone wrote a note like this in your handwriting. Is that what you are telling me?”

“All I am saying is that I didn’t write it!” Scott protested. “Why the fuck would I write you a fucking note? We see each other every day!”

“To cause problems. You hate us, but Duke won’t let you leave, so you might decide that it would be fun to keep messing with us.” She sounded unsure even as the words came out of her mouth.

“Yeah, because I’m so good at subterfuge and espionage.” He snorted. “One good but skeevy Anti-Gerard plan and suddenly, I’m a mastermind.”

“Then why are you sleeping with Ethan?” Kali riposted.

Scott’s mouth dropped open. He didn’t realize everyone knew about that. “So? That’s a crime?”

Kali just stared at him. 

“He wants it. I need it.” He was suddenly uncomfortable. “It’s not part of a bigger plan.”

“You need it?” 

“I need something.” He snapped. “And it’s not like my dating pool is huge at the moment, and unless Jorge has been keeping things from us, it’s you or Ethan and …” He tried to reach for a joke, but he failed. He shrugged instead. “I don’t see what you're so angry at. Everyone knows you want to kill him.”

“No, everyone does not know, McCall. Nicolas and Jorge don’t know. Ethan and Aiden don’t know; they can’t even conceive of someone moving against Deucalion. Duke suspects, but he doesn’t know. “

“Really? After Ennis …?”

“It wasn’t just Ennis. Sure, he and I had a thing, but that’s not really why I joined the pack.” She frowned. "Why do you think I joined?"

"I ..." The truth was Scott hadn't thought about it.

“I was bitten, just like you, though I was asked. I was in college, I finished my degree, and I looked at the future and it was … boring. So I said yes. You know I **loved** being a beta. I loved the power and the excitement. I loved to fight, and I was good at it. I was very good at it. Then my alpha died in a stupid accident, and I was the alpha. Suddenly, it was responsibility and what was best for the pack and everything that comes with it. If I had wanted to be a mother, I would have been one.”

“Still, I did my best. Julia.” She paused. “You know her as Jennifer Blake. She did all she could to help, but it went on for years. I was responsible for those people and that land and I hadn’t wanted any of it. Then Deucalion showed up and promised me what I had lost – freedom. All I had to do was kill my pack.” 

“Was it worth it?” Scott asked.

Kali looked him in the face. “No. Ennis and Jennifer taught me one thing; my freedom is an illusion. If I wanted to walk out of here tomorrow, Duke would never let me go. He wants the best, and I’m the best. I’m no more free than you are.”

"Why are you telling me this?

Kali closed her eyes. She was probably trying to listen to see if she could pinpoint where Deucalion and the others were. 

“Duke relies on the fact that we believe that he can get us what we want until we’re in so deep we can’t get out. That’s why he watches you so closely; that’s why you’re different. He can’t give you what you want until you want it.”

“Until I want to belong.”

“Right. Until then, he’ll tolerate your attacks and your insubordination. He wants what he wants – that’s his weakness, and that is how we’ll kill him.”

“We’ll …?”

“I train you. I train you hard. And you keep fighting him. While Duke is insanely powerful – I don’t really have that much of a chance against him – he can be hurt. He can be weakened. You keep fighting him and eventually you’ll hurt him, badly.”

“Then he’ll kill me. I know that’s why he hasn’t killed me yet. I’m not a threat.”

Kali shrugged as if that didn’t matter to her. “When you hurt him, that’s when I’ll act. “

Scott felt that maybe he should be upset, but he wasn’t. “You’re using me.”

Kali nodded. “Yep. Do you want to stop him or don’t you?”

Scott thought about it. He’d prefer not to die, but if it was a choice between living like this for the rest of his life or getting rid of Deucalion, he knew what he’d choose. He remembered the day he killed Partridge; he knew what it had cost him. He nodded.

“Then keep training with me. Keep fighting him. Don’t give him any indication that you know what’s coming.” Kali said sharply. “And no more stupid notes like this.”

Scott was about to protest that he didn’t write the note, because he hadn’t. It wouldn’t make a difference though. 

**THEN:**

“What the hell kind of place is this?” Aiden asked. “It looks like one of the sets in 'Deliverance'.”

They had parked their cars and motorcycles on the side of the road and began hiking into a remote area of the Shenandoah Valley. All of the alpha pack were there, save for Nicolas Verhoven. He had a board of directors meeting to attend. The Dutch alpha knew that he brought resources and influence to the pack, but, as he had explained to Deucalion, sometimes it would require him to be elsewhere. Deucalion had been more than reasonable about it.

“The place we are going have been ruled by werewolves since the time Europeans first landed on the shores. Human beings who come here are either allies, enemies, … or dinner. Sometimes all three.”

“What?” Scott exclaimed, shocked.

“We are predators, after all,” observed Deucalion. “None of us have ever indulged in it, but not every family of born wolves are like the Hales. Some prefer the purity of the savage. The Partridges were the kings of this land.” 

“And now?” Ethan asked. 

“All kingdoms fall,” Deucalion remarked cryptically. 

The trail was not easy to climb and if they hadn’t been werewolves, it would have been exhausting. There was no road to the place, not even a dirt road. Scott wondered how they got groceries. Maybe they grew everything they needed. Maybe they ate only meat. Or people.

The first Partridge they encountered was a huge man. He was bald and filthy; his claws and teeth were out and his eyes constantly glowed. Scott wondered if he ever put them away. 

The strange werewolf snarled a warning and Kali snarled back. Deucalion watched with pleasant disdain. When the other werewolf didn’t back down at all, but charged, Kali handled him without much difficulty. He was big and strong, but he actually seemed to be both feral and slow. He’d be more than a match for an untrained, unarmed human, but against Kali he was barely a moment’s diversion.

“Now, now, Kali, restraint.” Deucalion chided.

“You know I’m opposed to this,” Kali snarled. 

“Your objection is noted. Now, let us continue.”

Scott realized that there was more tension than normal between Kali and Deucalion. More tension than he had ever seen between them, even after the revelation of Jennifer’s identity and Ennis’s death, and more tension than he had seen in the ten months since he had joined them. 

Aiden made a screwed-up face. “Sir? May I ask a question?”

“You certainly may.” Deucalion turned his off-centered gaze on the taller twin. 

“Why this alpha? Usually, there’s some reason you want to add someone to the pack. McCall’s a true alpha, Verhoven’s incredibly rich and influential. I’ve never heard of this guy.”

“All will be revealed, Aiden. It’s not far now.”

The homestead of the Partridge Pack looks like it could have existed the same way since the 1800s. Four large homes, connected by fences, surrounded an open clearing. Livestock and children ran back and forth. Scott noticed that nearly three-quarters of the children he saw were girls. 

Deucalion stopped them when they reached the middle of the yard. The children looked up and ran for the houses. Several of them had glowing eyes.

“Are they all werewolves?” Scott asked. 

“The Partridge Clan is about three times the size of the Hales,” Deucalion held forth. “Or three times the size of the Hales when they were all alive.” Scott scowled at him for a moment; his tone had been so glib. “I do believe everyone here is a born werewolf.”

An older man came out of the largest house, flanked by two other men. The women and children had disappeared into the house. Charles Partridge was in his late fifties, maybe, not that that seemed to mean much to werewolves. Scott still didn’t know how old that asshole Peter was. 

“This is my territory. You aren’t wanted here.” His tone was aggressive.

“Understandable.” Deucalion said, reasonably. He was always so reasonable, even when he was threatening your life. “However, I’ve come with a very interesting offer for you.” 

Scott struggled as Deucalion explained his pitch once again. Every time the Alpha of Aphas explained the process that one went through to join the pack, Scott thought he would throw up. He kept imagining that one point, the blind werewolf would step back and say “Just kidding!” But he never did. Kali and the twins were standing stone-faced throughout the whole thing. How many times had they heard the pitch? 

Partridge listened with a mixture of hostility and suspicion. He seemed to sense that while he was on his home territory, he was out-gunned. He barely looked at Scott, but he kept his eyes on Deucalion and the others. Scott realized it was because Partridge didn't feel threatened by him. 

“I don’t need to be more powerful. I have everything I have right here,” Partridge answered. “My blood is strong.”

Deucalion argued back. “How much stronger could it be if concentrated into a purer form?” 

Aiden whispered to Ethan. “I don’t get it.” 

Scott didn’t get it either. He did not get why Deucalion wanted this guy in his pack – the Partridges may have been an old family, but even he, young werewolf that he was, knew the Hales had a far more respected reputation. This place did not seem to be very impressive. He also had no idea what the alpha meant about strength of the blood. Unless …

He had watched a lot of horror movies with Stiles. This couldn’t possibly be the old backwoods cliché, could it?

“Mr. Partridge,” he asked cautiously, when there was a lull in the conversation between him and Deucalion. “How many families do you have living here?” 

The other alpha glared at him. “Just mine. All of these are my children.”

Scott shot a look at the others. Deucalion was a master of remaining calm. The twins were looking at each other as if they didn’t quite understand. But he caught the sneer of disgust on Kali’s face. She knew. It was indeed some inbred abusive nightmare. Why the hell did Deucalion want this guy?

Scott watched with mounting horror as Alpha Partridge listened intently to Deucalion’s pitch. The blind werewolf was laying it on thick and specifically referencing breeding. The gist of it was that with the power of his betas concentrated in him, the alpha would be able to sire even more powerful children. 

The twins looked ashen, and Kali looked like she had found something foul and rotting on the side of the road. This must have been something new to them as well. Ethan especially looked like he was going to throw up.

Scott reeled when the direction of the conversation changed. Alpha Partridge was negotiating to keep some of his betas – female betas of breeding stock. The two male betas standing near him didn’t seem to be intelligent enough to understand what their father was talking about, but Scott did. Partridge was considering murdering his family to make himself powerful enough to sire stronger children. It was madness. It was evil. It was … pointless.

“I will need at least three,” said Partridge. “You have to keep the breeding viable. The rest can go.”

Scott was gritting his teeth and then he looked over at one of the homes. Little girls were looking out at the meeting, with wonder and curiosity. Their father was planning on murdering them. He snapped. 

Before he realized it, he had rushed straight up to Partridge and shoved a clawed hand through his chest. One moment he was seething with rage and unsettled with horror, and the next he had his hand through the other alpha’s chest. All the way through it. It felt unreal. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. 

Then he heard Deucalion’s calm voice cut through the air. “I told you, Kali. All he needed was the right incentive.” 

Before he could process it fully, Partridge’s sons surged forward with roars of rage, stupidly loyal to the man that had been planning their deaths. The twins intercepted them. Scott tried to pull his hand out of the body, but it was heavy and it wouldn’t let him. The angle kept him from getting his arm out. 

Suddenly, Scott panicked. He needed to get free; there was blood everywhere. He had shoved his arm through someone’s chest. He had killed someone! That was as rational as he could get. He finally worked his arm free and stared at it, soaked in blood. 

“I told you this would happen a long time ago, Scott. You’ve become the alpha you were meant to be,” Deucalion explained. He had that irritating pleasant, reasonable diction, the one that implied you were foolish even to argue with him.

“You …” Scott gasped when he could speak. The rest of the pack had scattered Partridge’s betas. “You set me … you were never …”

“Let that inbred freak into my pack? Don’t be ridiculous, Scott. This was arranged for your benefit.” 

Scott looked at the end of his hands. His left arm was bright red with blood and gore. The right arm was covered with only spatters, but the claws at the end were prominent. The world spun on a different axis; he felt like he was going to fall over. 

The twins told him later that he actually cut Deucalion with his claws before the Demon Wolf took his full alpha form and put him down for the count. He had a concussion and a broken back and he couldn’t walk at all with any sort of balance for a week, but he didn’t actually remember any of the fight but the pain. Eventually, everything healed.

His claws never left. 

**NOW:**

Scott flipped through the channels of the television set. There was nothing on he really wanted to watch. Amusingly, he realized that he had become an avid devourer of television programs. There was always some other program he could watch to take his mind off his problems. Tonight, he didn’t have the energy for it. He tapped his claws on the remote; it made a pleasant clicking sound.

They were in Chicago, arranging for travel papers and a chartered flight to Siberia. Jorge had told Deucalion the story of a pack of werewolves in the depths of the tundra there. The rumor had it that the alpha had the inherited ability to turn humans temporarily into betas and then turn them back into humans. Jorge explained with great interest that the bloodline used it to save humans who were lost in the cruel Siberian winter. 

Of course, just the rumor of a legend was enough for Deucalion to get excited enough to mount an expedition requiring them all to go to Siberia. It was going to be so fucking cold. Kali, with a great deal of reluctance, had actually packed boots. Deucalion didn’t care in the slightest that it was going to be miserable; his perfect-pack boner was in full force.

Scott groaned inwardly. At least Kali had trained him to fight in the snow. Maybe she’d get her chance there.

There was a knock on the door. He got up and opened the door, clad in only a ratty t-shirt and some sleep pants. “What?”

Aiden appeared. “I need to take a photograph of you. We’re getting passports.” He grimaced. “Could you like comb your hair and put on a new shirt? You look like a bum.”

Scott snarled back. “I didn’t realize the pack had a dress code. We’ve never worried about passports before. Wait a minute, doesn't it take like months to get a passport?”

"Not with Nicolas' connections."

The alpha pack usually ignored the rules of international travel, crossing borders on foot or employing smugglers to get across. Deucalion and Kali did not use their original identities; the twins never had proper documentation. Amusingly enough to Scott, since he actually had a real identity, it had made the pack’s travels more difficult. They didn’t want to draw the attention of his father.

Scott went to the bathroom, combed his hair and put on a new shirt. He thought about making things difficult, but it was becoming harder and harder to be stubborn to anyone but Deucalion and the new alphas. Now that he knew that the twins and Kali regretted being in the pack, it just didn’t seem worthwhile to rub their nose in it. 

When he came out, Aiden directed him to stand against the wall. “Should I throw up a gang sign?” It was a lame joke. Aiden rolled his eyes. “Wait a minute, what about my eyes?”

“Camera has a special filter for it. Verhoven needed to be able to have photographs taken of him.” Aiden shrugged. “It's not a problem.”

Scott watched as Aiden took the picture. The twin was taking an awful long time, fiddling with the settings. “I didn’t know you were into photography.”

Aiden shrugged. “I thought about … never mind.” He took the picture. “At least we’ll be flying in style this time.” 

“Hmmm?”

“After the last trip Nicolas took with us, he offered to charter a private plane. I can’t really complain that Deucalion recruited him. We’re still going to have to hike across the freaking tundra. It’s winter.”

Scott wasn’t looking forward to it either. Maybe the Demon Wolf could be walked into a ravine or something and left there. The idea of Deucalion wandering around Siberia for the rest of his life made him smile.

As he was smiling, Aiden took another picture. “That’s better.” 

Both of them heard the noise simultaneously. It sounded like a bomb going off, and it was nearby. Aiden and he rushed out to the balcony, as they were on the second floor of the motel. Aiden cursed when he realized what had happened. “My bike!”

Scott followed his line of vision to see the pack’s vehicles reduced to so much scrap metal and twisted plastic. He also saw the flash of police lights. That was quick. 

“I’m going to get the boss, if he’s not out already. You need to get inside,” Aiden growled. He really, really liked his bike. Aiden had punched him a few times when he first joined the pack over the motorcycle prank. 

“Gotcha.” Scott wasn’t nervous, but he was concerned. It couldn’t be a coincidence, so it was probably hunters. Heck, it could even be the Argents. He wondered if Chris would kill him now. 

He went back inside and sat down to watch television again. It was standard procedure after three years that if they were in a country with a reciprocal law enforcement relationship with the United States, Scott avoided any police. Deucalion had made clear that any cop who saw Scott would die, and he wouldn’t want that on his conscience, would he? 

He spent a few minutes trying to listen to what was going on with the vehicles, but then he realized he didn’t care. If it was hunters, they’d let him know. He assumed they would let him know. If they didn’t, maybe the hunters would come for him. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

It’d been maybe ten minutes since the explosion and Scott’s attention was beginning to drift back to the television when there was a knock on the door. His pulse jumped for a moment, but then he realized it was probably one of the pack. Cops wouldn’t have started door-to-door canvassing yet, and hunters wouldn’t have knocked. 

He listened at the door, and he could only hear a single heartbeat, slow and steady. It was probably completely safe. A little voice inside of him told him that he was being reckless, but another little voice said he probably didn’t care. He wasn’t prepared for who was standing on the other side of the door.

“Hey, Scotty!” Stiles stood in the doorway, smiling like he was sixteen years old again and had just pulled up in front of his own house. As Scott stared in amazement, Stiles slowly tilted his head slightly to the side; it was a strangely cold and threatening movement. “ **We’ve** been looking everywhere for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have tried to research as much as I can, but I am not sure if a camera filter would solve the werewolf eye problem. Please let me know if I get something wrong. Constructive criticism is always welcome.


	3. Nostalgia

**NOW:**

Scott had known it was Stiles instinctively. The awareness – the relief – had washed over him like a wave, but when the wave had passed it had been immediately replaced by a numbing fear. He had wanted to see Stiles for years, but now that his friend was standing before him, he found he wasn’t ready. Too much had happened in his life that he need to talk to Stiles about, but at the same time every single thing he wanted to talk about was dark and terrible. Instead of opening his mouth to speak, he stood as if frozen, like a statue that had almost come alive but not quite succeeded. 

Stiles looked very different than the last time Scott had seen him. He must have been an inch taller but he was even thinner. He would have had to gain maybe twenty pounds maybe to be close to his “fighting weight” of one-hundred and forty-seven. Stiles’ hair was only a little bit longer than he remembered and far shorter than Scott’s own but ragged and messy. He had also grown a full beard, which was weird as hell, and it wasn’t particularly well groomed either. If you coupled the rough hair style with the faded jeans, a ratty sweater, and a dingy canvas heavy jacket, he looked like a malnourished hobo.

Stiles’ demeanor had changed as well. Minutes had passed since Scott had opened the door and he hadn’t moved once – not even a twitch. He radiated confidence and poise, but his demeanor was cold. He stared with the same amber-brown eyes he has always had, but they freaked Scott out. They seemed to belong to someone else. 

“Can we go inside, Scott?” Stiles finally said after minutes had passed. “I wouldn’t want the rest of the pack noticing that I’m here.”

The direct question startled Scott out of his paralysis, and he moved out of the way in order to let Stiles in. Keeping an eye out for witnesses, he closed the door behind them both before blurting out “God, why are you here? If they find you, they’ll …” His words trailed off because, honestly, he was not sure what they would do. Would they just hurt someone who couldn’t possibly hurt them in return? “They’ll want to know how you found us.”

“Found us?” A ghost of a smile played around Stiles’ lips as if he had caught Scott saying a naughty word. “That’s different.” 

Scott fell silent once again, because the shock of Stiles’ accusation had knocked his mind off kilter even more. He hadn’t meant to say ‘us.’ He stood there in the room, arms at his side, mouth tightly shut. Instead of explaining, he blinked in response.

“You have no idea what to say, do you?” Stiles’ voice was mocking. It was not precisely cruel but neither was it particularly kind. Scott tried to remember if that was the usual way Stiles talked to him. He remembered Stiles’ words could sting. “You look like you want to say something, but you don’t want to say the wrong thing.” 

Scott nodded his head slowly, like a deer caught in the headlights. Stiles was right. He wanted to say the magic words that would erase the last three years – no, the last four years. He wanted to say the magic words that would leave him and Stiles sitting on a bench complaining about not being able to get to play lacrosse. He wanted to say the magic words that would let him drop the dull apathy that he’d been carrying for so long and just reach out and hug his best friend. He just didn’t know what they were. 

“Let me guess. You are afraid – no, that’s not right,” Stiles spoke again as he probably realized Scott was having trouble. “You’re terrified that if you aren’t careful with me that you’ll discover that we aren’t friends anymore. You’ll figure out that you’ve changed so much that we won’t be able to talk to each other like we used to. That it’s over.” Stiles voice was light and he raised his hand like he was volunteering. “If it makes you feel any better, same here.”

Scott nodded vigorously. It was easier for him to listen to Stiles explain how afraid he was than to say it himself. “Why …” He found his voice. “Why don’t we sit down? I’ll turn out the light so they’ll think I’m asleep.”

“They won’t be bothering us. Between the bombs and the police, they’ll be busy for hours.” Stiles said smoothly. “It’ll be safe to talk. It’d be even safer if you put the claws away.” He pointed to Scott’s hand. “They’re bigger than before and they’re a very intimidating black color.”

“I can’t.” Scott tried not to sound helpless when he said it, but he knew he had failed. He refused to ask how Stiles knew about the police and the bombs; he didn’t care about the others if they were out of the way.

One of Stiles’ eyebrows elevated itself into his hairline. “So, we’ve got a lot to talk about, then.” Stiles turned, took off his coat and headed towards one of the cheap chairs in the motel. Scott noticed that he smelled different. He smelled like cordite, cheap soap, hospital antiseptic and something Scott couldn’t quite place.

Scott followed him to the table and sat down across from it. He had a funny thought – when had they ever actually used the table and chairs in a motel room? He wanted to share it with Stiles, but he couldn’t. He still couldn’t make the leap to actually talk with him normally. He felt stilted and trapped, like a mummy unused to its bandages. 

“This is going to take all night if someone doesn’t start,” Stiles observed. His humor was different now – sharper, Scott realized. He was not being sarcastic to prevent himself from being hurt. He was using it to push the conversation in the direction he wanted. “Ripping the band-aid off is going to save a lot of time so – why can’t you pull in your claws?”

Stiles was right; he was often right. If they just sat there and didn’t talk for the night, they might waste their only chance. “I killed someone. No, I murdered someone.” Scott forced the words out between his teeth. “And ever since, I can’t control them.”

“That’s going to require more of an explanation, Scott.” Stiles didn’t seem at all disturbed by the admission. He seemed more like slightly puzzled. 

Scott told him the whole story of Partridge. He found he could keep talking as long as he kept his eyes fixed on the top of the table and as long as he spoke quickly and without trying to explain or justify anything. He shared just the cold hard facts and silently hoped that Stiles wouldn’t hate him. “So when I woke up, I couldn’t pull them back. It’s been almost two years.”

“Let me get this straight. Deucalion tried to recruit a hillbilly alpha who fucked his own children so, when the monster agreed to kill those children, you’d kill him?” Stiles restated the whole story as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “That seems like an awful lot of work to just to get you to kill.”

“You don’t get it, Stiles.” Scott breathed out, like a spell had been lifted. It disturbed him that the only thing he felt he could talk about was Deucalion. How deep was the Demon Wolf in his head? “He’s totally crazy. He fools everyone because he’s smart, and he’s polite, and he’s urbane.” A smile flickered across Stiles’ lips at the word-of-the-day. “He’s all of those things, but he’s also seriously fucking insane. He didn’t just want me to kill; he wanted me to want to kill, and I have no goddamn clue why that matters to him. He’s getting worse. The twins know it now; they’re scared shitless just like I am. Kali knows it now; she’s going to try to kill him when she thinks she can win.”

“It sounds like one big happy family, but you shouldn’t be so ableist, Scott. Insane people have feelings, too.” Stiles took a deep breath. Scott realized that he didn’t smell anything from him, nothing to tell him how he was feeling. How was that possible? “Why didn’t you leave?”

“I did. Once.” Scott ran his hand up his left arm to the tally-mark tattoo there. 

**THEN:**

Scott hung around the edge of the town. It was a small town, barely a thousand people in its population, in northeastern Utah. He had covered so many miles in the last month, since escaping from the Alpha pack’s lair in northern Minnesota. He had actively avoided the large towns and the major highways for two reasons. First, he hadn’t known what type of resources the pack had. He knew that hunters had the means to track people, and so there was a possibility that they could do it as well. Second, he didn’t want to draw the attention of his father until he was home, if he could avoid it.

This had meant limiting his contact with people. He had taken a few rides from people when it had been raining or snowing. He had eaten in a single restaurant while he still had some money, but it had been so difficult for no one to see his claws. He had tried breaking them off with a rock, and it had hurt like hell, but they had grown back by the next morning.

There had also been a couple who caught him in their barn and instead of calling the cops had fed him and let him shower. Still, he knew he was looking haggard. One shower in a month while travelling a thousand miles cross country was going to leave him ragged and filthy. 

He also had experienced the joys of eating out of a dumpster. It’s a skill that he would never want anyone to learn, but sometimes it was the only thing available when looking for a warm place to sleep. He wasn’t going to start breaking into businesses. It was better than actually killing and eating rabbits raw. The first time he had eaten a bunny raw, he had cried himself to sleep over the memory of an earlier conversation.

Now he was eyeing the dumpster behind a small diner, wondering if he was going to be able to find anything worth eating there. His stomach wasn’t giving him much of a choice about it – it was growling louder than he could. He supposed it was this or more raw animals. 

He had barely gotten past the bad milk and the old grease – if his stomach wasn’t completely empty it would have been by this point – when he heard the back door open. Without meaning to, he popped his head up so he could see what was going on. It was reflex and it was stupid. It would get him caught.

It did get him caught. A woman was standing at the back door with a broom. She was in her mid-forties, with a pleasant face and friendly eyes. “Excuse me?” 

“I’m sorry.” He said, standing in the dumpster but careful to keep his hands below the rim. “I’ll just go. Please don’t call the police.” He knew he looked scary, especially in the earning morning light.

“Oh.” She glanced at him. “I just thought you were a raccoon. We’ve been having trouble with them getting in there and dragging stuff out.” She didn’t seem inclined to call the police, for which Scott was grateful. “Young man, you could get some food in here.”

Scott could smell (even over the dumpster) and hear that she was being sincere. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money.”

“That’s okay, honey. Just come around front.” She smiled at him and went back inside. It was only then that he noticed a motion sensor on the corner of the diner.

He hopped out and thought about it for a moment. It would probably be better if he just left, but he was so hungry. It wouldn’t hurt to have a real meal, would it? As long as he kept his hands under the table or in his jacket, everything would be fine.

Scott came around the front of the diner. It was not very big but it was well kept with a welcoming sign. Right inside the front windows was a long row of booths and then beyond that was the counter. He stood in the doorway, unsure, and the woman who spoke to him came out with a waiter – a very thin, lanky boy about Scott’s age. “Let him have something off the menu.” She smiled at him and the boy came over and led him towards the counter.

“Do you mind if I sit in a booth?” He wouldn’t be able to conceal his claws at the counter. 

“No problem. It’s really early, so we got plenty of space.” The boy had him sit down. “What do you want?”

“The special.” Scott knew that it wouldn’t be too expensive. He did not want to be greedy. When he didn’t know what it was, the boy – Arnold his name tag said – told him that it was pancakes and bacon and two eggs. Scott’s stomach growled so loud that everyone heard it. “Tell the lady thank you.”

“That’s Maiah. She’s the owner and the cook.” Arnold laughed. “She’s a good boss.”

When the order was put in, Scott looked down at his hands. He was going to get to use a knife and a fork for the first time in three weeks and the thought made him happier than he could imagine. He was lucky he wasn’t slobbering over the table. Then he realized his hands were filthy.

He put his hands in his pocket and headed to the washroom. If he was going to eat civilized food, he should eat like a civilized person. He wasn’t quite prepared for what he saw in the mirror. His hair was long and matted and his face was grimy. He looked . . . he looked like that poor homeless person he had watched Gerard cut in half over a year ago. 

“I’m not an omega,” he promised to himself. It was strange that suddenly he was afraid of being an omega. He hadn’t minded it before when it was that or join Derek’s pack, but now he did. He wondered when that had changed. He caused his eyes to glow their dark red. “I’m not an omega.” 

He took extra time to scrub his face and hands with paper towels and the soap from the dispenser. He wanted to look as human as possible for the people who were being kind to him.

Suddenly, there was a scream. He had heard a scream like that too often; it was a scream of mortal terror and it was cut short like scissors cutting string. Scott reacted without thinking, but if he had stopped for a moment, he would have known even then that this was his fault. His senses were already telling him what was happening.

He burst out of the washroom only to find mayhem piled on the floor. Arnold was dying on the end of Deucalion’s claws; the alpha of alphas was nonchalantly holding him up like he was an umbrella or something. Scott could see Aiden in the background, dragging one of the customers outside. He and the twins eyes met for a moment and Aiden just shook his head. 

“How did you find me?” Scott demanded in his panic. “Why did you do this?”

“Find you? Scott, we never lost you. We found you within two days of you breaking of our agreement.” Deucalion shook Arnold off the end of his hand. “It was actually enlightening to see how resourceful you’ve been travelling across country. You avoided detection by the police.”

Scott barely listened to the false compliments. He was staring at the bodies on the floor. “Why did you kill them?”

“Oh, I didn’t kill them, Scott. You did.” Deucalion said amicably. “And not just them. Every human being you talked to since you left the pack is dead. Consider it the cost of your defiance. You can leave any time you like, but anyone and everyone you talk to will pay the price.”

Scott stared at him in disbelief. “You’re insane. You … killed all of them? How many?”

“Counting the six here.” Deucalion did the mental calculations in his head. “Thirty seven in total.” Deucalion frowned. “I’m hardly insane. I am simply demonstrating the lengths to which I will go to get what I want. We should leave before I have to continue my demonstration.”

**NOW:**

Stiles and Scott sat in the darkened hotel room. Even though Stiles had insisted that the rest of the alpha pack wouldn’t bother them with all the work they had to do, Scott was still nervous. After telling him the story of Partridge and his one escape attempt, Scott had gotten up and made sure the curtains were closed and all the lights were dimmed.

Scott watched Stiles; there was something wrong with him. Well, not necessarily something wrong, but something about him had changed. He was completely calm even during the stories of carnage and atrocity that he had shared. While Scott was grateful that Stiles didn’t seem to hate him for what he’d done, it was very weird that he didn’t seem too upset about it either.

“So, what do you want to do?” Stiles asked after a bit. He licked his lips. “I need something to drink. Mind if I run to the vending machine?”

“Are you crazy? What if they see you? What if they smell you?” Super-calm Stiles was now getting very weird. “I’ve got something in the fridge.” 

While he got the soda can, he thought about what Stiles had asked him. It wasn’t as easy as he thought it was.

“I don’t know what I want to do. I mean, I do. I want to go home, but …” He handed him the pop. “What do I do once I get there? Go back to school? Get my GED? What do I tell my dad? I know you’d understand and so would the others, but that’s it. And these – I can’t until I figure out how to make them go away.” 

“They would be a hindrance,” Stiles added unhelpfully. “You could tell everyone you got yourself surgically altered?” He winked. 

“This isn’t funny!” But, in the smallest part of the back of his mind, he was laughing. Some part of him that had been asleep for a long time was waking up. “But then there’s Deucalion. He’ll kill you, Stiles, if he catches you. I know he will and that can’t happen.”

“The obvious solution – we kill Deucalion.”

Scott looked down. He had never wanted to do that, but he was running out of options if he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life as the Demon Wolf’s pet. “I’ve hurt him once, Stiles, in three years. He’s too strong for me. I used to think there was always a way to do this without killing anyone, always a chance to win without anyone being hurt. I still want to do that, but … “ He looked up. “You have to leave, now. Go home. Please. For me.”

“And leave you here? No can do.” Stiles shook his head. “We’ll figure something out; we always do.”

Scott fixed his gaze to look into Stiles’ eyes. He winced at the reminder. “You don’t have to remind me, Stiles. This was my choice, and … you were right. On the hospital roof. I shouldn’t have gone with him.”

Stiles smirked. “Wasn’t actually referring to that, but thanks for the apology. We can figure something out; we’ll do it together.”

“I don’t want to sound like I want you to leave, because I don’t. I dreamed of seeing you again, but now that you’re here – you need to leave. I’m no match for him or Kali and … I don’t want to say this, but you’re human. I can’t watch you die.”

“Mmmmmmmmmmm.” Stiles hummed out loud, as if debating whether to continue. “That’s no longer exactly true, Scott.” 

“What?” At that point, Scott realized how selfish he’d been. Stiles had been here for an hour, and he hasn’t asked once about Beacon Hills, or his family, or even Stiles. Maybe he could blame it on the fact that he had trained himself not to think of things like that, but it was still rude. He said as much to Stiles.

“You need to understand what happened after you left,” Stiles began. “Okay, first things first. Deucalion snagging you and high-tailing his pack out of town put a huge kink in Miss Jennifer-Julia-Crazy-Bitch-Darach-Blake’s plans. Her sacrifices made her powerful, like really storm-cloud-and-lightning powerful, but only in proportion to her proximity to the Nemeton. One hundred miles away from that damn stump, she’s no more powerful than Deaton is.”

“Who stopped her?” 

“Derek and Deaton did, but you aren’t going to believe how they stopped her. It’s a laugh riot.” Stiles’ words were sharp and sour. He obviously wasn’t happy with how it had transpired. “Derek and Jennifer got married.”

At Scott’s disbelieving jaw drop, Stiles nodded vigorously. “Fucking hilarious, right?” His voice dripped with scorn and bitterness. “Just to be clear, it wasn’t a quickie at the justice of the peace. It was an ancient druid marriage ritual, ‘The Union of the God and the Goddess.’ Deaton was so pleased with his cleverness.” Stiles mimed sticking his finger down his throat and gagging. “It gave Jennifer the Guardian sacrifice she needed – Derek gave up his freedom to protect her – and it essentially allowed Derek veto power on her magic. He can cut her off if he needs to. They can also share power, which means that he’s an alpha again and she can draw upon his power through the pack bond.” 

“Are either of them happy with it?” Scott asked. That seemed really wrong.

“Jennifer was ecstatic. It seems that in addition to being a vengeance-driven serial-killing looney-tune, she really wanted the ‘D.’ Little Derek, to be exact.” Stiles was practically growling like a werewolf. “And, of course, Derek agreed, because he had already been angling for Martyr of the Year, 2011.” 

“So, they’re still together?”

“As of six months ago, yep. Derek and Jennifer rule the night of Beacon Hills together.” It was one caustic joke after another. Scott could tell that the topic really wasn’t one of Stiles’ favorites. 

“How is everyone?” Scott asked suddenly. Listening had made him remember that he could ask, now. He had been assured that his mother was okay, but maybe Deucalion was lying. 

“Your mom is alive; she still works at the hospital. She misses you every day. My dad’s still the Sheriff.” Suddenly, the harshness was gone and Stiles sounded sad. Scott noticed he had said very little about his father. “Chris and Allison left; while they respected Derek’s efforts well enough not to cause trouble, they couldn’t work with Jennifer. The Code.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Lydia left immediately after graduation and she’s never come back; she told me when she visited me in the hospital that between Peter and Jennifer, there wasn’t any place for her there.” 

“Hospital?” Scott realized that Stiles had said it so casually.

“Oh. Yeah, that.” Stiles smiled and it wasn’t a very nice smile. “You should understand that you are dealing with an escaped mental patient.” 

Scott must have made some sort of face. “Come on, buddy; it’s not that bad,” Stiles remarked. “We’re not actually nuts.” 

“It wouldn’t matter,” Scott answered. “I don’t think I’m in any place to be judgey.”

“Yeah. You’ve probably not thought about the darkness around your heart, have you?” Stiles chuckled again at his expression. “If it’s only the claws thing, then you got off lightly.” 

Scott swallowed as he thought about other things like whatever the weird and kind of twisted thing he had with Ethan. “I don’t know.”

“It got bad for us, Scotty. Really bad. So bad that we spent two years in Eichen House.” Stiles shook his head with emphasis. “Until we couldn’t take it anymore. Then we made a deal. Look at us. Look at us now, alpha, with your other eyes.”

Scott did as he requested, feeling the urgency and the strangeness of the demand. He thought, at first, that Stiles was talking about him and Allison, but Stiles’s final demand seemed a lot more specific. 

When he looked, he saw a shadowy figure draped around Stiles, with a muzzle, and ears, and nine lashing tails. “We had to get out of there, so we made a really simple deal. Subete no saimu ga shiharawa remasu. All debts will be paid.”

“Oh, my God,” Scott exclaimed. “She was right.”

**THEN:**

When he was twelve, he and Stiles had camped out in his back yard. They had set up a tent and slept under the stars. It was cool, except for the mosquitoes. They had been so heavy that year that the next day was spent in itchy misery.

On that summer night, they had brought out an atlas that Stiles had checked out from the library. Underneath one of those electric torches they had talked about all the places they would go when they were grown up. In England, they would see the castles. In South America, they would see the jungles. They would see the pyramids in Egypt and then Stiles had excitedly talked about heading south, following the Nile back to its sources. The Blue Nile, Stiles had explained, arose from Lake Tana in Ethiopia. They had talked for hours until they had fallen asleep.

Now, Scott was in Ethiopia, but he wasn’t with Stiles. He rode in the back seat of an old VW bus, looking out the window without much interest. Aiden was driving while Ethan was helping him navigate. Kali was napping, and Nicolas was reading a novel. Deucalion sat just behind the driver’s seat, ‘absorbing’ as he called it. He would open his other senses and build a picture of the world around him. 

Scott watched the Sanetti Plateau speed past the truck. The rock formations were so different than any he had seen before. He tried to feel excited about it, but he couldn’t work up the energy. All it brought out was a feeble melancholy. He knew why they were here, and he knew how the visit would end -- with blood and terror.

The small village they came to was not on any map. This had been accomplished by the pack which essentially ran the village. It was a large pack with over two dozen members. The rest of the people in the village were related to the pack by blood, leaving them small, loyal and tightly knit. They had survived here for centuries.

When the bus rolled into town, the first thing that Scott noticed was that it seemed deserted. It wasn’t just the absence of people outside in the middle of the afternoon. There weren’t any vehicles here, not even a bicycle. There was no work laid aside. It was as if the town had been deliberately and carefully emptied.

The pack filed out of the van, some sleepy, some eager to stretch their legs. Scott and Deucalion were last out. Scott was reluctant to go through the mummery again, while Deucalion was slow and patient. The blind alpha did not seem either disturbed or surprised by the absence of people in the village.

Kali asked as much. “Oh, I am sure that there is at least one person here – the alpha for which we are looking,” Deucalion suggested. “Spread out and find her. Scott, you stay with me.” He still didn’t trust Scott not to try to help the target escape. 

“Where do you think everyone went?” Scott asked. The older man didn’t answer.

It was Verhoven who found her. Given the fact that werewolves age differently than humans and even age differently among themselves, Scott had no idea how old she was. Habesha sat on a chair in what was her parlor, stately and unafraid when the alpha pack came to visit her. Scott could hear that there was someone else in the house, possibly in the bedroom. If he heard it, others had heard it as well.

“Good afternoon, Habesha,” Deucalion began. “I do know a little Amharic, but it would be clumsy at best. I am hoping we have another language in common or perhaps you would have a language in common with Nicolas here.”

“I know English.” The woman’s voice was deep. She must have been very commanding, but to Scott she sounded tired and weak.

“Excellent. Given the reason I desire you for my pack is your precognitive ability, I am sure you were aware of my coming. Still, I would like to make you an offer directly.”

“I know what you want,” she said. “I know what you would have me do.” 

She lifted a trembling hand and gestured to the village they were in. “I have only one Beta.” She seemed weak and ill. “She is in the bedroom.”

Deucalion frowned. “My sources told me that you had nearly a dozen.” 

“They are omega now. I severed the ties.” Habesha said firmly. “They’ll not die for your ambition.” 

Deucalion frowned once more and Scott shook his head. The blind alpha always seemed so disappointed when people didn’t jump at the chance to be murderers. “You deny your nature, Habesha.”

“Wolves don’t kill their own,” she said. “Unless one is sick and a danger to the pack.” That barb was directed at Deucalion. 

“You’ll come to understand the wisdom of my actions,” Deucalion said kindly, in that falsely polite way he had of speaking. “Kali, would you mind fetching Habesha’s sole remaining beta?”

While Kali went off, Scott was studying Habesha. He didn’t like the way she was trembling or the color of her sclera, so he stepped forward. “Hey, are you all right?”

The woman nodded and inclined her head to Scott. “Soon, I will be at peace.”

Deucalion perked up from his rest. “What have you done?” He moved forward and found a glass near Habesha. He picked it up. “What is this?”

“Nothing you will know the antidote for,” the dying alpha told him haughtily. “You have forgotten, monster, that the pack does not live for its alpha, the alpha lives for her pack. You will never have what you seek.”

Scott went to her and grabbed a hold of her hand. “You didn’t have to do this. You didn’t have to die.”

Deucalion throws the glass across the room. “Kali!” He roared. “You would let the unique gifts of your bloodline die rather than evolve?”

Kali emerged from the bedroom leading what had to be a ten-year-old girl by the hand. She was obviously related to Habesha and cried for her in Amharic. Kali looked at the situation and Scott saw the slightest hint of a smirk. 

Habesha was no longer listening to Deucalion. She tried to take her hand out of Scott’s, but he wouldn’t let her. “I would rather die than be his slave, like you are. But you will have your freedom when the shadows wear your brother’s face.” 

The young girl ran over to her mother. She was crying and speaking in a language that Scott didn’t know. He did not have to know it, for the pain and the fear were plain in every syllable and every look on her face. Habesha comforted her weakly, calling her Desta. 

The twins, uncomfortable with the scene, went outside. Scott stayed next to Habesha, listening to the conversation even though he didn’t understand it. Deucalion stood stock still, furious but coiled, unwilling to let his anger show in more than his posture. Nicolas and Kali inspected the place in curiosity. Nicolas found the poison that she used, but by then, it was far too late.

Desta now had red eyes. Deucalion sighed. “Well, time to go.”

Scott stood up and held out his hand to Desta, who was crying. He had tried to comfort her but she did not speak a lick of English, which was totally understandable.

Kali made a face. “We’re not taking her with us.” 

“We can’t just leave her here,” Scott protested. “I thought you wanted the bloodline’s gifts?”

“Of course,” said Deucalion. “But as a child, she will barely understand the gifts she has, which may not even manifest for years. If she survives the next decade, I’ll come back and add her to the pack.”

Scott barked out a laugh. “You are such a fucking idiot.” He couldn’t take it anymore. “You’re upset that someone who can see the future outwitted you, so you are going to take it out on her daughter.”

Deucalion turns his head toward him with an inquisitive sneer. Kali froze, but one corner of her mouth turned up. Verhoven looked bored and disdainful. He wasn’t used to dissension. 

Scott really didn’t care right now. “You’re so twisted by what Gerard did to you and what Marco did afterwards, that you can’t see how people really are any more. You’re blind in more ways than one. You can’t see it that this little girl’s done nothing to you. We can’t just leave her.”

Scott had always tried fighting Deucalion or reasoning with him. This was the first time he was … rude. The Demon Wolf did not like it. “I’ve made my decision.”

Scott snapped jaws at him. “You keep trying to form the perfect pack, but you’ll never get one. Because no matter how many of us you corrupt, you’ll always be in the pack, won’t you?”

It had looked like that Scott had finally pushed Deucalion too far. In a rage, he fully transformed. If Scott thought that fighting him was tough normally, when Deucalion called upon all his power, it was like a Navy Seal against a toddler. Well, maybe not that bad, but Scott felt pretty helpless. He had been so angry, he hadn’t been thinking, which meant he hadn’t been prepared. 

The Demon Wolf cuffed him hard on the side head, and while Scott’s world was spinning, snatched him up by the throat. He said nothing while the other clawed hand, he forced open’s Scott’s jaw. There was pain and his mouth was filling with blood. 

Deucalion, human in form once again, let him drop, and placed something in Scott’s palm as he choked on the blood. “Here. It might be easier to watch your tongue if you can see it.”

Deucalion left, Nicolas followed, and Kali approached him, calling out to the twins. She was going to use Habesha’s sewing supplies to sew his tongue back on. The twins were going to have to hold him down. Desta watched from the corner, forgotten by everyone but Scott, with wide, wide red eyes.

**NOW:**

Stiles’ face indicated puzzlement, surprise, and a bit of irritation after Scott’s exclamation. “Who was right?” It seemed that this was not what he was expecting.

“It doesn’t matter.” Scott took in a deep breath as he studied the play of the fox-shaped shadow. Why wasn’t he upset? Stiles obviously thought he would be upset, but he didn’t feel upset. He felt relieved. Was it because he thought that this might make Stiles safe? Or was it Stiles’ confident assurance that he could help him escape? It had been a long time since he had any real hope that he could get away from this life. He suddenly felt queasy at his own selfishness. “Are you okay?” 

Stiles blinked as if he didn’t quite understand. Then he burst out laughing. “We just showed you what we were, and your first response is to ask us if we’re okay?”

“Am I supposed to hate you? I don’t care what you are – I just want to know if you’re okay. What’s wrong with that?” This was how he felt. He was pretty sure this was how he felt.

“We forgot about that you’re like this. You never cared that we weren’t like other people. It’s been so long.” Stiles smiled a genuine smile and the shadow form around him wavered. “We’re okay. Now, we’re okay. When this …” He gestured at himself like trying to encompass the past. “When this first started, it wasn’t a partnership. The fox took the Stiles you knew as a prisoner in his own mind. We did pretty terrible things. We hurt people we cared about; people that both of you cared about.”

“Why?” Scott couldn’t tell what Stiles – it still had to be Stiles, it had to be – was feeling. He couldn’t smell it and the tones were jumbled. It was like Stiles was half-proud, half-terrified of what he had done.

“Because that’s what we do. That’s what we’ll always do. That’s how we _live_. The old Stiles fought as hard as he could, but he couldn’t stop us. And then we tricked the rest of them. Well …” Stiles frowned and sighed. “We tricked everyone but Deaton. Enigmatic bastard poisoned us, and before we could recover the old Stiles locked us away in Eichen House.”

Scott felt conflicted at that. If Deaton had thought that Stiles needed to be stopped, then he had to be stopped. 

“Don’t worry, Scotty. We’re not mad at him. He could have killed us, but he didn’t, because he knew that you wouldn’t want him to. A guilty conscience is powerful for people like him. He and Lydia and my father did everything they could to find a way to free the old Stiles, but they couldn’t find a way.” Stiles shrugged as if it was no big deal. “No one had ever been freed from one of our kind before, so there was little to go on. The person we are mad at is Jennifer or Julia or Mrs. Hale or whatever name she goes by now. She is the one who made sure that we couldn’t escape. Two years, Scott. Two years in that hellhole.”

“I’m sorry, Stiles.” Scott meant it. “If I had been …”

Stiles interrupted him once again by laughing. The thing about his laugh is that it wasn’t warm and guileless. There was humor, but it was tinged with cruelty and anger. At least it wasn’t directed at him. “We hated you, you know. We blamed you for not being there. At first, we thought we’d punish you, but look at you.” He reached out and put his hand on Scott’s cheek. It was intimate and gentle and really weird. “You weren’t exactly living the good life.”

“I wanted to come back, but I couldn’t. I’d … I’d given up until you came here tonight.”

“We’ve been here a lot longer than tonight, Scotty. It was us who left the note in Kali’s room.” Stiles said conspiratorially. “So, we’ll ask you again. You know what we are now. You know what’s going on back in Beacon Hills. What do you want to do?”

Scott felt that flicker of hope he experienced when Stiles first came to his door blossom a little brighter. “I want to go with you. I want to leave the pack. Even if I can’t have my old life back, I want a new one.”

“Good. Because we’ve got a plan. We think you’ll like it.” Stiles smiled and it had that strange air of menace. “It’s a great trick.”


	4. Desire

**STILES**

Stiles – because they had to have a name and Stiles was as good as any – watched from the shadows as the Alpha Pack gathered out in the middle of the motel’s parking lot. As they had predicted, the bombing and the police investigation had kept them busy for hours, and even with the pack’s werewolf metabolisms, they, except for Scott, were tried and grumpy. 

The part of them that had once been just Stiles Stilinski had been and still was horrified at what three years had done to his best friend. In a way, it was as if his friend no longer existed; instead there was only an echo of the person he had once been. The man looked like Scott, the man knew what Scott should know, and once in a while the man would offer a glimpse of an emotion or a gesture that brought back memories of a much better time. But most of the time, the man in front of him was just there: something alive and breathing but not feeling much of anything at all.

The part of them that was a thousand year old had seen this hundreds of times before in soldiers, in criminals, and in men and women kept under harsh conditions. In this century, psychologists called it ‘dissociation,’ but it had been around for far longer than the science of the mind. It had been around since humanity had first learned to be cruel to one another.

 _What did you think would happen, Stiles?_ It slyly suggested. Though they were joined willingly, they had learned that talking with each other as individuals could be beneficial to them both. _He was in the hands of a self-proclaimed ‘destroyer of worlds’ for three years. Did you think he would be the same old friend who you used to play video games with? Do you realize that you are in better shape than he is mentally? You may have hated Eichen House as much as I did but you received counseling and other forms of treatment there. He was just a brutalized prisoner._

 _Fuck Eichen House._ Stiles hatred of his time at that place almost boiled over into physical shaking, but they managed to lock it down. _I still didn’t think he would be this changed; it’s like he’s drugged all the time. I let this happen, didn’t I?_

 _We’ve talked about this. Guilt is useless to both of us. But you are missing something important, that I feel I must point out. Look closely, your friend remains what he was at the core of his being. You could sense this if you tried. The so-called Demon Wolf has not claimed his soul, though he certainly tried his damndest._ The fox laughed merrily on the inside. _What shall we do about that? Deucalion has taken from you. Shall we pay him back for it?_

In the real world, Stiles scowled in anger. _Fuck yes, he’s going to pay. Starting now._

Out in the parking lot, the pack waited for Verhoven’s rented limousine to arrive so they could get to the airport. They had piled their bags on the sidewalk in a haphazard fashion. Scott waited until everyone was on the lot before he knelt down and started taking off his shoes. This caught the attention of the twins. Ethan approached him, but Scott had waited, as planned, until Kali’s back was turned. Jorge and Nicolas standing under the eaves of the balcony paid him no mind as they usually tended to ignore him; they seemed to have little use for the true alpha. Deucalion stood by himself in the cold morning air, a little ways off from the others. 

Ethan asked, concerned, as Scott finished taking off his shoes and socks. “What are you doing?”

“Fighting to win,” Scott replied and then, with no warning, rushed forward to grab Kali by the head and slam her into the side of someone’s SUV. He managed to surprise her, though the blow wasn’t going to kill her or even knock her out. It did daze her. The SUV’s car alarm shrieked into the night.

There were exclamations of surprise from the other alphas. As Stiles had explained the plan, they pointed out that Scott was – and they had tried to put it as nicely as they could – predictable. He didn’t like fighting, even after this long stay with a violent pack. He didn’t want to hurt people. So this outburst of unexplained violence would be very confusing to the other alphas. 

Scott leapt from Kali to Nicolas. He threw the Dutch werewolf all the way across the parking lot and almost out into the main thoroughfare. Without stopping, he ran up the back of a parked hatchback, leapt into the air, grabbing and planting Jorge’s face into the concrete as he landed. Stiles was impressed; Scott had picked up some sweet moves over the years. The car alarms from the hatchback blared out into the night.

Stiles enjoyed the rush from the pain and chaos that was blossoming in the parking lot. They hadn’t quite mentioned how they fed to Scott, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure they were full for the next part of the plan.

Kali had recovered from her hit and was squaring off with Scott, but she was fighting cautiously, circling the true alpha. She wasn’t sure what his goal was, and she played it safe. Aiden and Ethan were flanking Scott, as Scott suggested they would. Deucalion, of course, was backing away. No matter how insane the man was, he was wise enough to have faith in the other alphas to contain the fight. The blaring car alarms would have to make him uncomfortable, as he used hearing more than the other wolves.

Stiles walked forward, unobserved. There were fourteen different types of kitsune, and while their exact abilities varied according to what type they were, they all shared abilities in common. Their age and strength were measured by the number of their tails. They could all manipulate foxfire to a greater or lesser extent, giving them some control over electricity. They could learn new skills very quickly, though it was actually the immortal spirit of the foxes remembering skills learned in past lives. They could heal if they had learned how. 

Their type determined the other powers they could manifest. Noshiko Yukimura, their old rival, was a celestial kitsune. Her strength lay in her self-possession, her perception and the skill with which she managed interaction with the spirit courts. No other type of kitsune could have managed to summon him while lying in a truck and riddled with bullets. Her daughter, Kira Yukimura, was a thunder kitsune. She could generate and control huge amounts of foxfire as compared to other kitsune. She was also far more aggressive in her approaches to solving problems. 

Stiles was technically no longer possessed by a nogitsune. In striking their deal in depths of Eichen House, he had become an actual void kitsune. Their talents applied to the emptiness of things, which is why they most often had to possess others; unlike other kitsune, they could not form physical bodies. They could sense the flaws in people, in places, and in events. They saw the blind spots in which they could hide even to the most observant. They saw how to break things. They noticed the forgotten secrets that others thought long buried. That’s why they could see that the core of their friend’s being was intact, even with all the damage inflicted by the Demon Wolf. 

And so the chaos caused by Scott’s seemingly random attack created a large enough distraction that none of the other alphas sensed them until they had walked up and put the barrel of the .50 Desert Eagle to the back of the Alpha of Alpha’s head.

“I think,” Stiles said, loud enough so everyone could hear them. They simultaneously shut down the car alarms with the tiniest manipulation of foxfire. “Everyone needs to settle down.” He barked out. “Right now!”

The werewolves froze, except for Scott, who had been expecting this. He looked with a sort of dull anxiety to where Stiles was standing. Even though Stiles had convinced him that he wasn’t fragile any more, his friend was still terrified of anyone standing that close to Deucalion.

Stiles felt his enemy shift slightly under the gun. “Deucalion, before you go thinking that your reflexes are fast enough to get out of the way of this gun before we can pull the trigger, you need to ask yourself a few questions. How did you not hear me? How did you not hear my heartbeat? How did you not smell me or the wolfsbane ammunition in this powerful firearm?” 

To his credit, and Stiles hadn’t expected anything less, Deucalion remained perfectly still after that though he did talk. “I must admit you have me at quite a disadvantage. What do you want?”

Scott had whispered an apology to Kali (another echo of the friend he had once known) and immediately retrieved his shoes and socks. Verhoven was picking himself up and Jorge was trying to heal his face. The twins were amazed at the appearance of Stiles. Kali was far savvier; she was aware that something was up with the formerly human member of Scott’s old pack. 

Stiles answered. “I think that should be obvious. Scott, get the car.” Scott nodded to him and sprinted off. 

“No one move,” Deucalion ordered. “I’m very curious to see how this is going to play out. So this is an escape attempt. Wouldn’t it be wiser just to shoot me and be done with it? Or are you not as sure as you sound that your reflexes are faster than mine?” 

“No. If we wanted to kill you, we would have tried to cut your throat while we were sneaking around your house in Minnesota.” They weren’t exactly boasting, and they weren’t exactly lying. Kali did give him a sour look. She now knew who left the note in Scott’s handwriting, as if Stiles hadn’t mastered imitating his friend’s script years ago. “And you might be faster than us, or you might not. We’re a gambling creature. How about you?”

“I’m more interested in your goal here. You could have freed your friend from our control without a confrontation.” 

“We want you to release Scott from his promise. In return, we won’t blow your head clean off.” Stiles shrugged with one shoulder. “We don’t care about his promise, but he does. “

“You’re aware that I’ll simply follow him and force him to come back with me,” Deucalion replied with a certain gravity. “I’ll not be denied.”

Stiles dropped his voice to a whisper. “No. We didn’t think you would be. We know you’ll come after him. We’re counting on it.” Stiles gambled that Scott was far enough way getting the car not to hear this. “All the pieces have to be on the board for the game.”

Deucalion perked up with interest. “Now that makes sense. What’s your game?” 

“All debts will be paid,” Stiles replied in a hissing whisper that they hoped conveyed just how angry they were. “Scott is ours. **Ours.** He’s always been ours; he’ll always **be** ours.” He pushed the gun into the back of Deucalion’s head to emphasize his point. “Do you know how much you’ve hurt him? Twisted him? Do you really think we’d let you go with a simple death?” 

“Of course I knew.” Deucalion responded, glibly. “I knew how much I’d have to push to make him mine. And he will be mine, eventually, for all your threats.”

The other alphas could definitely hear what he said. “You want him back? We finish this at the place where it all started.” Stiles taunted. “As strong as you are, it must really sting that you fled Beacon Hills with your tail between your legs. Would you like to try again?”

Deucalion nodded his head. “Nothing would please me more. Without a lunar eclipse, there is nothing to stop me. I’ll tear that town apart.” He raised his voice. “We’ll let them go. For now.”

Here was the real trick. Scott drove up with the car that Stiles had prepared for their escape. The alpha pack had no vehicles right now. There was only a small window of danger. 

“Scott,” Deucalion said in that terribly amicable voice he used. “I will release you from your promise; I rather like my head attached to my shoulders.”

Scott glared at him defiantly and then popped open the passenger side car. Stiles took a step back but kept the gun trained on the back of the Demon Wolf’s head. “Are you going to kill anyone I talk to, again?”

“No, but I am going to make you a promise. No fox, no witch, no ancient power will keep me from getting you back. You’ve felt my power more than once; your freedom only means others will feel it as well.” Deucalion’s malice was apparent in every syllable. 

Before Stiles could speak up, Scott growled back at the Alpha of Alphas. “We’ll see about that. Stiles, get in the car.” 

Stiles blinked. Scott had given them an order. It wasn’t one they minded, but they wondered what that was about. He moved quickly to the car, slammed the door, and they drove off, leaving the Alpha Pack alone in the parking lot. 

**SCOTT** :

Scott should be happy. He should be ecstatic. He should be smiling. He was not.

The Wisconsin countryside sped past outside of the train’s window. Stiles – or whoever the hell he was now – had made them ditch the stolen car a mere ten blocks from the hotel, steal another car, and then leave that stolen car in the emergency tow-away zone at the train station. Stiles had already had two tickets for the Empire Builder before he had even arrived at the hotel. They would be in Portland in two days. 

Scott supposed he should ask at how taking a train was going to protect them from the Alpha Pack’s wrath. He didn’t.

Stiles watched him with those older-than-they-should-be eyes. The strangeness was still there from their time in the motel room. “You’re being awfully quiet.”

Scott startled from his self-imposed silence. “I guess I can’t believe I’m free.”

“They won’t be able to follow us. We’re pretty sure that it won’t occur to them that we ditched the first car so quickly, and even if it does, by time they could possibly figure out which car we stole next, it’ll have been returned to the owner. By some incredible stretch of the imagination, if they can trace us to the train, they’ll never know which stop we’re getting off.”

“We’re not going to Portland?” Scott assumed they’d ride to the end of the line and then head south.

“Nope. We’re getting off in Ephrata.” Stiles leaned back in his seat with a satisfied look on his face. “We need to pay someone a visit.”

Scott looked at him, back out the window, and then back to him. “Who?” He was only mildly curious.

“It’s best that you don’t ask us that quite yet,” Stiles closed his eyes. “You trust us, don’t you?”

Scott was taken aback by the question. Stiles seemed to be taut, waiting for his answer. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

A slow smile spread across the other man’s face. “That’s probably wisest.” 

Scott turned to face the window. Contrary to Stiles’ suggestion, he started to think about trust. He hadn’t trusted anyone in a long time. He hadn’t actively been suspicious; he had just operated under the assumption that anyone he was dealing with had his or her own agenda. Even when he had been intimate with Ethan, he had never really let down his guard. He wasn’t sure he knew what it felt like anymore to trust someone. 

He looked at Stiles on the seat across from him. He wasn’t stupid. He knew there was something fundamentally different about his friend. Stiles didn’t **match**. In the long, slow nights he had spent with the alpha pack, he had lain in bed thinking about his family and friends back in Beacon Hills. He had dwelt among memories, but now he realized he had forgotten that memories were just that. He had listened to what Stiles had told him and he didn’t have any reason to doubt it. But the Stiles that sat across from him with his eyes closed here wasn’t the one he had expected.

He had clung so firmly to the part of him that refused to become the monster that Deucalion wanted. He had sacrificed all the other parts of himself in order to do that, and then he had become frightened that if he escaped, his family and friends wouldn’t recognize him. He was horrified by the thought of his claws, not just because it isolated him even more but because they were indelible proof that he had changed. It just never occurred to him that the people he wanted to remain the same for had been changing as well. 

“How many people did you kill?” He asked suddenly. 

Stiles opened his eyes from where he was resting. “Hmmmm?”

“You said you hurt a lot of people when you first …” Scott fumbled over the words; it was a complex situation. “When you two first met.” 

Stiles screwed up his face as if he was counting. “The fox killed eleven. Katashi and his bodyguards. The two people in the hospital parking lot. The four deputies. Yes, eleven.” He shook his head. “There could have been more, but the fox doesn’t feed off death.” 

Scott swallowed. “And since your deal?” 

“None!” Stiles said, triumphantly. “As much as we wanted to kill several of those nurses at Eichen House, we didn’t kill anyone. At least not yet. We wanted to see you first, and we knew it’d be easier if we hadn’t killed anyone.”

“Are you planning to kill people?” Scott asked. 

“Do you want us to lie and say we aren’t? All debts are going to be paid, Scotty. **All debts**.” He looked mad. “We’ll let you try and talk us out of it, if you really want to.”

Scott looked down at his hands. Did he even have a right to any more after failing to stop so many other people from dying? He knew how good it could feel to kill. 

“Who did you hurt?”

“Oh, the **fox** hurt Isaac and Coach and Derek.” Stiles smiled. “But they got better.” There was a pause as if Stiles was thinking about something. “Eventually.”

“Why them?” 

Stiles shook his head. “They were there. The fox needs to cause pain and chaos, Scott, so now we do. That’s not going to change.” 

“Okay.” Scott looked up from where he was studying his claws. “Are you still Stiles? Are you still my friend? Because sometimes I think that you are and sometimes I think that you aren’t.”

Stiles screwed up his face. “Are you still you? You are; you’ve just changed. We’re more than we were, but he’s still part of us.” 

Scott couldn’t argue about that. “I think I’m what’s left of me. I know that sounds stupid, but I’ve been sitting here since we got on this train and I’ve been thinking I should be excited, and I’m not. I should be overjoyed to be going home, but I’m not. I’m not anything.” He sighed. “When you first came by last night, you said I was scared that I’d find out that we’re not friends any more. You were right.”

Stiles looked at him and he leaned forward on the seat. 

“I think we have to learn to be friends again. I think I have to learn how to be me again. And I’m …” Scott shook his head. “I guess I’m just sorry if I’m not what you came looking for. I don’t think I am.”

“You’re not.” Stiles said bluntly. “The part of us that was once just Stiles is horrified at what you are. You’ve not asked about your mom. You’ve not asked about Allison. You’ve given up on them and on yourself. It’s like you’re almost dead.”

“And the rest of you?”

Stiles considered that for a long time. “We’re not sure we know how to answer that. But we keep asking you – what do you want? We’ve noticed that you never said that you wanted to go home. Do you not want to go home?”

Scott turned the window. He didn’t have an easy answer for him. He didn’t have an easy answer for himself.

After fifteen minutes, he said again. “I’m not sure what I’ll find in Beacon Hills. I’m afraid that I won’t fit there anymore. I’m afraid that when I get back, I won’t **want** to fit there anymore.”

“We know we don’t fit there anymore, but we have to go back. At least for a little while.” Stiles replied with an air of practicality. 

“Yeah, so you keep saying. You have debts to pay.” He didn’t realize he sounded so tired.

“One of those debts is to your mother, Scott. You remember her?” Stiles teased, at once cruel and sad. “She has always been kind to us. She was there when our own mother couldn’t be. Even when we were in Eichen, she always sent little things for us. She never forgot us.” 

Scott felt ashamed, and then he felt happy for some reason. Was he happy that his mom had never stopped caring for Stiles? Or was he happy that he could feel ashamed?

“All she wants is to see you again. All she wants is to know you’re safe. Even if we had found that you were a fucking psychotic monster, we would have dragged you back to see her.” Stiles spoke with a fierce conviction. “You remember how much she loved you?”

“I do, but will she …”

Stiles snorted. “Don’t be stupid and say what we think you’re going to say. Don’t even do that.” 

“Okay.” If Stiles thought it was stupid to worry that his mother wouldn’t want him anymore, than it was stupid. “Okay. I’ll try to do better.”

“Oh, Scott, it doesn’t work like that. You can’t just fix what happened. We know that more than anyone. Just give yourself time; you’ll know soon enough how much of you is left.”

**STILES**

Stiles sat across from Scott on the train and mirrored what the werewolf was doing. He was looking out the window with a slight frown upon his face. His eyes weren’t really seeing the landscape; they were fixated on his own image reflected in the glass. 

_Still disappointed?_ The fox asked him. Its face in the glass grinned at him.

 _Yes and no._ Stiles admitted. _I’ve been watching, and you were right. He’s still there if I look hard enough. I just didn’t think I’d have to look that hard. It’s like the Funworld Carnival._

One day in the summer before junior year, Stiles had been feeling particularly restless and just a little bit lonely. Scott had had a particularly busy week at summer school and at the clinic. They’d still be hanging out over the weekend, but Stiles had nothing to do. Boredom took him to unpleasant places, so he determined to take a little road trip to a place he hadn’t been since his mother had died. It was an amusement park his mother had taken him during their summers together. He had just wanted to see it again.

It was exactly like had remembered it and completely different. The rides were there; the booths were there. The seven-year-old him had found the place to be so fantastic. The seventeen-year-old him found the place to be garish and dingy. It had made him nostalgic in the sad, pathetic way that people mourn for childhood. 

_So what do you want to do?_ The fox asked in the window’s reflection. _We could ditch him easily. He probably wouldn’t care._

Stiles gave his own image an impertinent grimace. _I’ll never abandon him. Is this when you keep asking me ridiculous questions to show me that I’m being ridiculous?_

_Like it or not, I’m going to spend a lot of time with you. I’d prefer you to be clever._

Stiles glances over at Scott, who is sitting with his eyes closed now. _We can’t change him back, can we?_

 _Change him back to who? The person he was during freshmen year? Sophomore year? We can most certainly change him, though._

Stiles frowned. _I don’t want to change him._

_Yes, you do. Do you want him to stay like this? I thought **I** was the cruel one._

The fox had him there. Scott had all but admitted feeling lost outside of the alpha pack. It turned Stiles’ stomach. _What do we change him into?_

 _Yours. Ours._ The fox said simply. _That’s what we told Deucalion. I want the true alpha. You want your best friend._

Stiles swallowed nervously. 

_You should really stop pretending that our conversations aren’t a trick we’re playing on ourselves. We’re one. You can’t hide what you want from me because you can’t hide what you want from yourself. You’ve lost everyone. You lost your Mom. You’ve as good as lost your Dad. Lydia wants nothing to do with you. Derek’s been claimed by Jennifer. But you have Scott back. **We** have Scott back. The best thing to do is to change him into something that will never leave you. That can’t **ever** leave you. Never leave **us**._

Stiles hesitated. Intellectually, he understood that this was wrong. Emotionally, he wanted to make that promise happen so badly.

 _You are Void. You left morality behind when you made the deal, Stiles. It’s not like you will be hurting him. We’ll have him, and he’ll have us. No one will do that to him again; we won’t allow it. You aren’t the little boy watching something invisible eat your mommy until there’s nothing left. You aren’t a third-string player getting beaten up by a senior citizen. You aren’t on a hospital roof without a plan. Not anymore._

Stiles nodded at his image in the mirror. _That was true. That was so very true. So. How do we start?_

 _I would kiss him._ The fox chuckled. 

_Uh. I’m not like that._

_Maybe you weren’t and maybe you were._ The fox countered. _You certainly checked out Derek’s jeans often enough._

Stiles snorted. _A rotting cabbage would check Derek out._

_My point remains. You hadn’t gotten far enough in life to determine whether you could have or not. Labels are pointless anyway. After the first three centuries, you realize that labels are like chains – either you are using them to tell yourself not to do someone you want to do, or someone else is using them to tell you to do someone you don’t want to do._ The fox was having too much fun. _Anyway, you aren’t just you anymore, and I can assure you we are definitely like that. I can provide visuals._

 _Thanks, but maybe later_. Stiles looked over at Scott’s sleeping form. _So, we’re like that. What about him? He’s never been anything like that._

_Again with the labels. All you have to do is look closely. You know what he wants, more than anything._

Stiles nodded. He could call upon the talents and powers of the fox now. _He wants to know that he’s still worthy of being loved. As if there were any doubt._

_You can see the doubt in him. Every hole the Demon Wolf tore in him was left to fester, to rot him from the inside out. It’s an old technique: convince your captive that the only place they deserve to be is your prisoner._

_And what will me kissing him do?_ Stiles licked his lips. It was true; he was beginning to see the appeal.

_It’s a start. In the end, we will have done exactly what Deucalion was hoping to do._

_You want me to convince him that the only place he deserves to be is with us?_ It sounded horrible and wonderful at the same time. 

_Love him._ The fox spoke agitatedly. _Use him. Comfort him. Torment him. Possess him. Discard him. Destroy him. Recreate him. Any word that means the same thing; all the words that mean the same thing. Love, love, love him. Lure him with the promise of happiness until he loves you back. Then he’ll never leave you. He’ll really be ours. **He will never escape us**._

Stiles nodded to himself. Their decision was set. He left his seat and moved to sit next to Scott, elbowing him. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

Scott startled awake, bringing his hands up. When he realized where he was and who was with him, he immediately put his hands down so no other passenger would see his hands. “Oh. I’m sorry. Did I do anything?”

“No.” Stiles offered him a sincere smile. “I just noticed you were sleeping. If you’re that tired, we could go to the sleeping car. Much nicer than sleeping sitting up.”

“You got a room with beds?” Scott looked at him with surprise.

“What’s so surprising about that?” Stiles shook his head. “That’s the best thing about traveling on a train, and we’re going be on this thing for two days!” 

Scott shrugged. “I just thought they were pretty expensive.” 

Stiles put a hand on his shoulder. Touch would be important about this. It would be a familiar gesture. “They are. But money’s not really a problem.” He offered Scott a hand up. 

As they were walking toward the room, Stiles glanced back to see Scott’s face. It looked like he wanted to say something, but he wasn’t able to do it. “What?” 

Scott shook his head and kept walking. The werewolf kept looking around. 

_Hypervigilant,_ Stiles laughed to themselves. “Come on. You know I won’t get mad. If there’s something bothering you have to tell me.” They stopped at the door to the room.

“If money’s not really a problem …” Scott began and then trailed off sheepishly.

Stiles was suddenly struck with a memory. It was a real memory of a similar conversation years ago, before any of this had ever happened. He responded the way he did then. “Don’t make me slug you until you tell me.”

“Why do you look like a hobo?” Scott said softly. A ghost of remember smiles played about his lips.

“Fantastic.” Stiles smiled warmly as he went into the room. “Our first time on a train and you are criticizing my grooming choices. Absolutely fantastic.” 

Stiles pulled out the bed and stretched out on it. “It’s not huge, but it’s better than giving yourself a crook in the neck.” He scooted over so Scott could get on it as well. This felt good, actually, even beyond the plan. “You really don’t like my beard?”

Scott shrugged noncommittally. 

“You can tell me. I won’t be mad.” The truth was that they really didn’t care that much about what they looked like. Mundane things seemed unimportant. For example, they had finally learned that they had to eat after almost passing out once from low blood sugar, but it was something neither of them liked doing, not after Eichen House. 

Scott kicked off his shoes. “You don’t look like you.” 

“Well.” Stiles wanted to reply that he wasn’t him, but they knew that. Scott was sharing his own feelings with him, and that was what they wanted, wasn’t it? Yes. It was what they wanted. “I still hate your tattoo. I hate all of them.”

Scott sighed, but there was more contentment in it than frustration. He was still tired, and the werewolf soon fell asleep.

They slept when they needed to. Stiles watched his old friend drift off. More memories like their joking conversations returned to him. He remembered them with a faint sadness. These things were only a small part of what he was now. They were still important.

The sun slowly fled the sky as Stiles watched Scott sleep. Finally, he reached out a hand and smoothed the hair on the sleeping alpha. “Ours.” 

**SCOTT**

Scott woke up slowly. It was hard to struggle from the depths of sleep especially with the movement of the train rocking him gently. His senses kicked in and slowly his mind registered the scent of Stiles. It hadn’t been a dream.

He opened his eyes fully. It must have been early in the morning. He had learned enough to be able to tell the approximate time if he had been outside, but on the train it was only a guess. He was alone in the room, though the bed next to him was still warm and still smelled of Stiles. Stiles as he was now, he reminded himself.

He hadn’t met to fall asleep so quickly yesterday. He guessed it had been the excitement of escaping from Deucalion. Scott knew he should have more faith in Stiles’ plans, but there was a part of him that could not relax. He was waiting for the pack to show up and take him back. 

He thought about rolling over and going back to sleep. He didn’t have anything he wanted to do today. He could sleep all day, he imagined. What else was there to do?

He was still lying there debating with himself when Stiles opened the door to the cabin. “Good, you’re up. I got breakfast.” 

Scott might think he was depressed except for his appetite; the smell of something warm and buttery made his stomach flutter. He tore into the sausage rolls that Stiles had brought, and he was on his second before he realized that Stiles wasn’t eating.

“These are really good.” Scott glanced over to where Stiles was watching him eat. “You should have one.”

Stiles shook his head. “Oh, I’m not …” He didn’t finish his sentence before Scott had reached over and put one of the sausage rolls in his hand.

“You haven’t eaten anything since I met you. A soda doesn’t count. Eat.” The words tumbled out like a command. Scott thought about apologizing, but then he realized he’d rather see Stiles eat. 

The sausage rolls didn’t last very long at all. Stiles ate a whole one all by himself. Scott got out of bed, mission accomplished, and headed toward the small washroom. “I’m going to wash up.” 

The bathroom in the Superliner Bedroom was remarkably compact, being able to fit a toilet, a sink, and a shower in the size of a closet, but the word comfortable would never be applied to it in anyway. Scott left the door open as much as he could as he cleaned his claws in the sink. It was amazing how much gunk could get caught in them when he was eating.

Their escape plan had allowed him to pack, so he carefully arranged his toiletries on the narrow sink. He looked in the mirror. It was the same face looking at him that had looked at him for months, but now he realized how shaggy he looked. He rubbed his hand over his face; he could stand a haircut and a shave. 

He pulled his shirt off and tossed it out into the room. He had to move carefully in the narrow space. Consequently, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Stiles speak into his ear. The room wasn’t that big, but Stiles had gotten really close without him knowing. “What’s this?”

Scott understood he was talking about the four parallel scars running down his back. “They were a lesson.”

Stiles ran his hand down his back, fingers mimicking the path of Deucalion’s claws. “I thought you couldn’t scar.”

“That was part of the lesson. He was saying how much there was out there that I didn’t know, so fighting against him was ignorant. There’s a mix of herbs and wolf's bane that when rubbed into a wound will cause it to scar. Hurt like a bitch; still does some days.”

Scott went to grab his toothbrush when his eyes widened. Stiles had bent his head down and kissed the top-most part of the scars. It was tender and completely unexpected. “What’s … what’s that?”

“An apology.” Stiles stood behind him looking into the small restroom mirror so they were able to see each other’s faces. “For not having a plan.”

“Don’t. Don’t apologize.” Scott was amazed at how passionate his response was. “It doesn’t do any good, and all it does is mire us in the past, figuring out who should say they’re sorry next.”

“The past is all we have.” Stiles put a hand on his waist. Scott wasn’t sure what this meant, but it was not unwelcome. 

“No. I’m free. You’re free. We can do anything we want.”

Stiles clucked his tongue. “You know that’s not true.” He ran one hand down the scars on Scott’s back and reached around with the other hand to touch the claws on his hand. 

“I don’t want to live in the past.”

“Okay.” Stiles smiled. Scott recognized that smile. When they were younger, it was the smile that Stiles had when he was about to propose an adventure. Stiles reached around him again and picked up a washcloth. 

“I was going to take a shower.” Scott said as Stiles picked up the soap and ran water over the cloth while reaching around him. He wasn’t uncomfortable, but he was surprised by the closeness.

“No. Let me.” 

Scott would have freaked out four years ago. He would have been worried about what this would have meant for their friendship. He would have worried what it said about him or about Stiles. Now, he couldn't see the point. They weren’t the same anymore; they could be anything they wanted.

Stiles washed him carefully, tenderly. Scott closed his eyes. As much as he had never imagined it being his best friend, it had been so long since someone had made him feel like this. His times with Ethan had been nothing more than release. Stiles meant something to him. Right now, he meant everything.

“You’re not enjoying this.” Disappointment tinged Stiles’ voice. From his scent and what Scott could feel pressing against him, Stiles was enjoying it. 

“No.” Scott breathed, “I am.” He moved one hand behind him and dug the claws into his palm. It worked. The pain was enough to stir his interest, and he hoped that would satisfy Stiles. To him, the echoes of feelings he hadn’t experienced in years was more than enough for this.

Stiles pressed forward suddenly, kissing him. It was a rough and forceful and it was another surprise but Scott let it happen. He felt light-headed; he could care less what this meant in the long run. Right now, it felt good.

Stiles broke away from the kiss as he pushed Scott up against the sink. With a surprisingly strong grip, he pulled Scott’s hand from behind his back. Stiles observed in wonder. “You’re hurting yourself, but you’re in control.” 

Scott opened his hand slowly to show the bloody wound. Even after everything Stiles meant to him, even after everything he had told him, he still felt ashamed. He couldn’t meet Stiles’ eyes. Was this the thing that went too far?

Stiles lifted one eyebrow. “So, that’s how it is? We can work with that.” He brought the hand up to his mouth and licked the blood off of it. Scott blinked as the pain went away. “We can definitely work with that.”


	5. Duty

SCOTT: 

They lay together on the bed in the train compartment looking up at the roof. It was a weird echo of the many times they spent over at each other’s house when they were children, looking through the roof and imagining the stars above it. They’d whisper about what they’d be, where they would go. Always together. The memory had snuck up on Scott like an assassin. 

In their whispering as children, they never even came close to imagining what they would become. 

Stiles must have glanced at the clock, though Scott hadn’t felt him move on the bed. He was so much stealthier now it was eerie. Scott would turn around to see Stiles staring at him with full attention. Scott would be startled when Stiles walked up to him without knowing. It wasn’t just he had lost the slight clumsiness he once possessed. He had gained an economy of movement that seemed nothing if not deadly. “Ephrata is the stop after the next one. We’ve got about two hours.”

“You going to tell me what we’re doing there?” Scott asked. Stiles had evaded answering every other time he had asked.

“Not wise,” Stiles huffed, evading once more. “No, not wise at all.”

“Are we going to keep secrets from each other now? Are we back to that?” Scott demanded. He had been lying there trying to remember how they used to feel, only to be reminded that it wasn’t like that at all anymore. 

“Sometimes, secrets are good.”

“Like the time you didn’t tell me that Gerard beat you up to send me a message?” Scott questioned sourly. “How was that good?”

“It was good because we didn’t like being used. Like you didn’t tell us back then you were going to be a True Alpha?” Stiles riposted easily. “That might have been useful for us to know back then, but we understand why you did it.”

“I know.” Scott sighed and winced as he rolled over so his back was to Stiles. “There’s always reasons. Tell me it’s a good reason, at least.”

“It’s the best reason.” Stiles shifted slightly closer on the bed. “What was the twinge about? What’s bothering you?”

Scott stretched slightly but still not turning around to look at his friend. “It’s probably going to rain soon. The scars ache when it is about to rain.” 

Stiles reached out and touched one of the scars with his finger. He pressed on it. “How strange.” The pain flared and then vanished from that part of the scar. 

“What’s strange?” Scott asked curiously. 

Stiles ran his finger down that scar, causing the ache to flare and fade once more. “When you were first bit, we – I, it was just I back then – I had the silliest idea. I thought you wouldn’t feel pain the same way I would. That, because it would heal, it would just kind of hurt less.”

“No,” Scott murmured. “It doesn’t work like that. Are you taking my pain?”

“No, it doesn’t work like that, does it? Your pain tastes like everyone else’s.” Stiles slowly worked down each of the scars until he had soothed the ache from each one of them. “Why do you think you’ve started to like it so much?”

Scott swallowed. He knew that Stiles had taken the revelation about his perversion in stride; hell, the ‘new Stiles’ had even mentioned it as a good thing. But Scott still felt awkward talking about it. He retreated into silence, staring out the window at night.

Stiles didn’t push; he just waited. 

Scott didn’t turn around to talk to Stiles; he couldn’t look him in the eyes when he said this. “Aiden asked me a couple of weeks ago why I kept being defiant when all it got me was beat up. I told him that it was a part of me that Deucalion hadn’t taken yet. He’d taken everything else, but he couldn’t make me give up what I thought was right. Every time he hurt me in frustration or in punishment, it felt like a victory. The pain … the pain became the reward for winning. I looked forward to it. It meant I was still me. I guess I started to look forward to it too much.” Scott forced a thin-and-insincere chuckle out. “Isn’t that sick?”

Stiles let out a breath that Scott felt on his back. “It’s not sick.” Scott couldn’t believe that. It was twisted. What else would you call someone who liked getting beat up? Who could only get an erection when he was bleeding? He could feel his body tensing up in reaction to his own words; he was so disgusting.

Stiles must have felt his revulsion for he grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around so they were face to face. Stiles’ eyes were blazing and dark at the same time, like pools of dark glass. “It’s **not** sick. We’re old, Scott, so old, and we’ve seen things like this again and again. It’s not a tree’s fault when it gets cut down. It’s not a dog’s fault when it chews its leg off in a trap. It’s the torment that the wicked place upon the good; we’ve feasted on its consequences. You’re not sick; you **survived.** ” 

Scott watched those glittering eyes staring at him. It was moments like these when the person across from him seemed to Scott that he wasn’t Stiles at all. To prove his words he picked up his clawed hands and took Stiles’ off of him. “I’m not good. Not anymore.”

Stiles turned his head to the side. “Look at us. Do we look like we care?” Stiles does another one of those quick moves that Scott isn’t ready to believe he can actually and he’s on top of him and pressing him into the bed. Scott could throw him off, but why? “You enjoy pain; it makes you horny. We feed off of it. We’re going to look down on you? We love you. You’re like having a best friend who’s also a pizza.” 

And Scott laughed because that was the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard in his entire life. “You’re not Stiles. I thought you were but Stiles would never, ever tell a joke that lame. Best friend who is also …”

From his position on top of him, Stiles dived down and silenced the words with a kiss. It was a hard, smashing kiss, and Stiles snagged his bottom lip between his teeth and bit. He bit hard enough to draw blood. The feeling rocketed through Scott’s body. 

They broke apart. Even though he could feel the wound healing immediately, his mouth was still filled with his own blood. The intensity made him say nothing but follow Stiles’ retreating mouth with his own. 

Stiles pushed him back down. Scott let him, of course. Stiles was stronger and faster than his underfed frame would indicate, but he was still no match for an alpha’s strength. But Scott wasn’t interested in winning. He was interested in what Stiles would do.

The answer to that was for Stiles to bite, hard, running down the side of his neck, down his chest, up each arm. These weren’t play bites, either. They were hard and sharp and some of them drew blood; any of them would have left a terrible bruise upon a normal person, but they vanished quickly on him. Scott felt each bite as a little flower of pain, but as Stiles lips would hover over it, the pain would quickly dwindle.

For his part, Scott slowly and carefully divested Stiles of his clothes even as the other man kept up his assault upon the flesh. It was hard to focus on it long enough to keep himself from tearing the clothes accidentally. Stiles knew what he was doing. After he had managed to get it done without either nicking his friend or ripping a single article of clothing, he grabbed Stiles by the neck and brought him down for another smashing kiss.

“Is this fostering co-dependency?” Scott gasped when they broke apart. It was a joke that Lydia had made at the beginning of junior year. They had both been offended by the insinuation that they couldn’t function without each other. Scott wondered if history had proved them right or if it had proved them wrong. 

“Shikata ga nai.” Stiles whispered back. “Remember when it was just you and me? Don’t you want to feel that close again? Haven’t you missed it?” 

“We never did anything like this,” Scott chuckled, but Stiles was right as usual. He did miss feeling close to someone. He lifted his hand up and put it on Stiles’ face. His claws rested on Stiles’ cheekbones, and the sight of it underlined what he already knew. He was different; so was Stiles. Stiles’ eyes in the dim light of the room were the same as he remembered yet filled with something he couldn’t really comprehend. They couldn’t be close the same way; they weren’t those children any more.

“Hmmmmmmmm.” Stiles replied. “And we certainly never did anything like what we’re about to do. I’m going to fuck you.” With surety and grace, Stiles made it clear that he intended to carry through on that promise. Scott moaned encouragement but he let Stiles do the work. He wanted to see where this could go if he just let someone else get what they want. Stiles went for what he wanted; he played Scott’s body like an instrument, guiding and turning and opening him in ways Scott hadn’t known could be done. It wasn’t like before with Ethan or with Allison; the rhythm of their bodies together a different closeness – powerful, yet sinister and dangerous. Scott could only gasp in response. 

Scott let his eyes drift shut after they had achieved their release. They were still together and he could feel as well as hear Stiles’ heartbeat. “Where does this end?”

Stiles’ lips were close to his ear; Scott could only see the side of his head as they lay together. “We suppose it could end when one of us dies.” It was a promise made of light and dark. “And maybe not even then.”

Scott smiled at the strange answer. “Dude, you have the weirdest pillow talk.”

STILES:

Scott had been right about the rain. Stiles strolled along the street twirling the umbrella they had swiped from one of the travelers at the train station. There had been a time when Stiles would have felt a tiny bit bad about the theft. He would have countered that bad feeling with several clever rationalizations. First, the umbrella was one of those cheap fold-ups you got at Walmart; it must have run ten dollars maximum. Second, the travelers were well dressed with nice luggage. They could afford to pick up another umbrella. So in the end, little damage was done and he was dry.

Now, though, they simply didn’t even feel a tiny bit bad about it, and they didn’t need the rationalizations. What once would have created a little guilt, now only made them laugh. Because they could see it. The well-off traveler would, caught by the rain, search through their luggage for the umbrella, because they knew that it had to be there. The traveler would dig for it, messing up their carefully packed clothes or accidentally spilling them across the floor. He’d turn to his wife and ask her about it, and she, tired and ready to **go** , would complain that it’s not her job to keep track of his things. They’d get mad at each other and begin to bicker due to the stress of the trip. Chaos and strife, just by filching an umbrella.

They had the easiest job of all the jobs in the entire world. The natural state of the universe was disorder and chaos; every little bit fighting against every other little bit. Order and Peace were the things that required effort. They were the things that people had to build and they were the things they had to defend. All it took was a little push to destroy them, like the first domino in a chain.

The natural state of everything was Void. 

Stiles had always possessed a fine intuition and a useful skill for analysis. He wasn’t as capable as Lydia when it came to absorbing and utilizing huge amounts of knowledge. He wasn’t as reliable as Alan Deaton in synthesizing knowledge into useful action. But they knew his strength – he easily sensed how things were put together. Now, though, it was coupled with their centuries of experience, their heightened perception of the flaws in all things, and their ability to nudge things toward dissolution. They made a good team. 

Stiles twirled the umbrella once again while spying a really nice car. It was a brand new Lexus, sleek black in color. It would do for what they needed. They laid their hand on the car and felt the electricity flowing within it. They shut down the alarm and triggered the door locks. Foxfire had its uses. 

They had already planned out the trip so they could probably navigate their way out to the location outside Ephrata with no problem, but why waste a perfectly good GPS. “Argent Compound in Wenatchee on Squilchuck Road.” They’ve never driven a car this luxurious; they took their time so they could enjoy it.

The Argent compound consisted of six hundred acres just east of the Wenatchee National Forest. Stiles drove down the highway that bordered most of the north side of the compound. The fence, mostly hidden by trees and underbrush, began about one hundred feet from the road and was topped with razor wire. They had to assume that there would be cameras placed at strategic locations throughout the forested property. Perhaps even traps. 

Stiles had researched this place after escaping Echo House but before finding Scott, and they had done it without actually visiting. Being a supernatural creature themselves, they weren’t going to just stroll into the training grounds/headquarters of one of the world’s most prestigious hunting families without knowing everything that could be known. This is where the Argent family trained its hunters in the best techniques for stalking, investigating, and killing werewolves and anything else that preyed upon humankind. 

This time, though, they were going to have to risk a face-to-face visit. Part of them always loved a good challenge and the other part always enjoyed the visceral thrill of doing something truly dangerous. This was both.

The flaw in the Argent compound’s defenses was pretty simple when someone took the time to analyze it. It was designed to be defended against packs, which was understandable, since werewolves, like wolves, formed packs to take down prey that was too big for them to pull down on their own. The Argents were the biggest prey there was; a single werewolf could possibly do a lot of damage, but it would eventually be overwhelmed. Since nothing could be designed to withstand all assaults, there was the possibility that someone who was good at stealth could make their way right up to the main house. Stiles had become very good at stealth.

They chose to go in a little after eight, when the sun had set beyond the mountains but while people would still up and doing things. It might seem safer to break in when everyone was asleep at two in the morning, but that would be after they’ve turned on all the alarms. The Argents would be watching television, eating snacks, playing games; they would be being people – or a reasonable facsimile. 

The main house would have been absolutely gorgeous – all rustic wood and greenery and skylights open the northern sky – if it weren’t for the obvious military-grade communications array and the bars on the windows. The bars blended into the building as subtly as they could be made, painted a lovely yellow color, but they were bars none the less. It was okay for them, though, they weren’t going in through the window. 

They were actually going through the back door. When they laid a hand on it, they could feel the heavy steel door. It probably had a dead bolt, but they was betting that it wouldn’t be locked this early in the evening. They were right; they were able to slide right in. 

Stiles closed their eyes and felt the house. Their affinity with lightning and electricity conjured a weird branching tree throughout, like a living creatures nervous system stripped of flesh and skin. Sensing nothing out of place, the found themselves in the kitchen. Footsteps approached, casually. 

Stiles opened the refrigerator, grabbed two bottles and then pulled them out. “Oh, hey, Allison. We were just stealing a beer. Want one?” 

SCOTT:

It wasn’t as if he didn’t trust Stiles …

Okay, yes, it was because he didn’t trust Stiles. He did not think that Stiles meant him any ill will. He did not think that Stiles was betraying him. He did believe that at least part of Stiles was protecting him and he was damn sure that part of Stiles was manipulating him.

Scott had spent three years with the Demon Wolf. He knew what manipulation felt like. 

Manipulation doesn’t have to be bald-faced lying and sinister intent. Allowing your children to believe in Santa Claus was manipulation; it was tricking your children into joy. There’s nothing wrong with that. Scott knew a lot about Stiles, but he didn’t know much about this fox spirit that had merged with him. Stiles cared for him and he had freed him from the Alpha Pack; he was grateful for both. 

But gratitude was not trust. Scott only knew two things. The first was that Stiles didn’t want him to know what he was doing in Ephrata. The second was that Stiles didn’t realize just how good he had gotten at being an alpha werewolf.

Scott had very little trouble following Stiles after they parted ways at the train station. He shoved what little luggage they had into a locker and then used his sense of smell and hearing to keep Stiles under observation. Stiles’ ability to cloak his presence must be something that required activation. Scott’s stealth had improved as much as Stiles’ had; stalking prey was a skill that wolves held in common. And it seemed no matter what powers the fox had given Stiles, his senses were not as powerful as Scott’s. 

Scott followed Stiles down the street; watched him steal a car; and with his hearing, heard him put his destination into the GPS navigator. 

He understood then. Scott wasn’t angry; how could Stiles know how he would react to Allison’s presence when he didn’t know how he would react to Allison’s presence. He still didn’t know. 

Following the car would be a problem, but Scott had also learned a few things from the twins. There was a motorcycle nearby. He used his strength to rip of the plate and hotwire it. Isaac had told him that Allison had did it once. It was ironic, maybe?

Stiles would have to be very observant to notice the motorcycle following him. He ran with the lights off, and he had no helmet. He used all his senses and kept as much distance as he could. It wasn’t hard at all. 

Stiles parked his car on the side of a road and Scott pulled off the road and hid the motorcycle behind some underbrush. He’d need it to get back to Ephrata. Stiles took a very specific route into the compound and Scott saw no reason not to follow his scent and his steps. It became a lot harder; Stiles must have exerted his strange powers to conceal himself. Scott lost track of him but he was able to make his way through to the building. He was nearly to the main house when he caught Stiles greeting to Allison.

With as much skill as he could, he got to the roof. The kitchen had a skylight and he could look down at the confrontation. 

Allison sprang to the kitchen counter and drew a knife from the carving block. She had always been skilled but now she move with a ferocity that would match some betas Scott had seen. 

“So we’re guessing that’s a ‘no’ on the beer?” Stiles put the spare one on the counter slowly and carefully; he was trying to demonstrate his lack of aggression. “You won’t need that. We’re not here to hurt anyone.” 

“And I’m supposed to take your word for it?” She answered, disbelieving. Scott felt a tremor in his body as he heard her voice. It was recognition and ache, but it wasn’t the old thrill. He had buried that so deep that he didn’t think he could find it. Now, there was only regret. 

“It’s probably unwise to take our word for anything, but we can only point out that if we wanted to hurt you, we would be behaving a lot differently. Tell you what. Call your dad. He’s probably still up, and we’d like him to hear what we have to say as well.” Stiles used the edge of the counter to pop the beer cap open. “We knew you wouldn’t buy cheap twist-offs.”

Allison, even through the rain-clouded glass of the skylight, exuded stubbornness at Stiles’ request. She had cut her hair short, and the cut made her look like her mother. Scott studied her like he was an archaeologist. The girl he had met so long ago was still there, but worn away by time and stress. Finally, she called out to her father. 

A tense minute passed with Allison watching Stiles like a hawk, Stiles affecting a disinterested pose while sipping his beer, and Scott watching both of them with an awkward point of view from his spot on the roof. Finally, Chris Argent slid tactically into the room, his .45 ready. 

Chris and Allison locked eyes; Allison took the lead. “What’s this all about?” She demanded.

“You’ve got a pretty nice set up here,” Stiles began conversationally. He was using the tone that you’d use if you were visiting old friends. Somehow, it was sincere and insincere at the same time. “We’re impressed.”

“You can’t be too impressed. You still infiltrated the compound. If we were impressive, you wouldn’t dare,” Allison replied. The confidence echoed throughout her words.

“We needed to talk to you, and we doubt that if we knocked on the front door in the middle of the day, you’d respond as well as you are right now.” Stiles eyed Chris’ .45. “No one’s pulled a trigger yet.”

“Yet.” Allison replied. “You’ve killed people.” Her voice sounded like judgment. Scott couldn’t imagine that she was planning ways to kill Stiles even now.

“Technically, one of us killed people. The other part was just a passenger at the time. Now we’re partners. It wouldn’t be fair to kill us both for what one of us did, now would it?” 

Chris cocked the gun menacingly. “Think of it as a preventative measure. Whatever you are now, you are going to have to feed.” 

Stiles chuckled at that. His bravura was astounding to Scott, as he didn’t see how Stiles could avoid being shot if Chris opened fire. The Argents were probably thinking the same thing, so they hesitated. They were too well-trained to think that something like Stiles had put themselves in harm’s way without a plan.

“Why did you do that, Stiles?” Allison’s voice took on a slightly less harsh tone. She was speaking to someone who once was her friend. “Why make a deal with that thing?” 

“We had our reasons. Let’s just say we were tired of the accommodations at Eichen House. There was no future there.” Stiles shrugged and took another sip of the beer. “It’s been a rough few years, hasn’t it, Allison?”

Allison frowned and her face closed up once again. She was the matriarch. “Maybe you should get to the point.”

“We are!” Stiles laughed. “You really don’t like small talk, do you? We have news that you should hear, and we wanted to deliver it in person so you knew that it was true.” 

Allison made a gesture with her free hand for Stiles to get on with it. The kitchen knife had never left its ready position. 

“We freed Scott from the Alpha Pack.” Stiles announced around his smirk.

Allison sucked in her breath and Chris lowered his gun. “You did?” She asked. “How … how is he?”

Stiles’ face suddenly shifted with that question. Gone was the fake camaraderie and in answer a red-hot anger flared. “How is he? **How is he?** He spent over three years as the captive of a brutal psycho who employed every stranger-danger trick in the book to turn him into a loyal minion. He’s a pile of human wreckage. We’re surprised he can get out of bed in the morning. Speaking of getting up, he’s been so warped he can’t get a chubby unless someone is stabbing him.” Stiles eyed Allison nastily. “Doesn’t seem that would be a problem for you, though.”

“You’re acting like it’s my fault … like it’s our fault.” There was a tightly constrained fury behind her words. “We’re not the ones who made a deal with Deucalion.”

“He made a deal to save lives. He kept a deal to save your life.” Stiles pointed at Chris. “We thought that was your thing, saving people from monsters?”

Allison took a step forward to retaliate but Chris put out a hand to stop her. They shared a long glaring silent conversation with each other.

“You’re a monster,” Allison replied as if that explained everything.

“Stop changing the subject because you don’t want to face the consequences of your decisions. You’re the Argents. You hunt werewolves. Where the fuck have you been?” Stiles finished off the beer and tossed it into the sink so hard that it shattered. Pieces of bottle glass scattered about the kitchen. “Don’t answer that. We know where you’ve been -- hunting everyone but the Alpha Pack. And we know why.”

“What do you think you know?” Allison charged. “God, even possessed by a fox demon, you haven’t changed. Sarcasm isn’t the same thing as insight.”

“We know that three years have passed and you haven’t done a single damn thing about the Alpha Pack. What exactly where you waiting for? You expect us to believe you couldn’t find them?”

Allison’s jaw clenched. “You don’t have the right to pass judgment on what I choose to do and choose not to do.”

Stiles burst out laughing. “You knew. You knew where they were all the time. Did you know what they were doing to him, we wonder?” He clapped his hands together. “There’s only one reason you knew where a murdering freak and his band of overpowered werewolves were and didn’t do anything about it. Isn’t that right?”

Chris spoke up at this point. “Attacking the alpha pack would be a significant commitment of time and resources, which we could not be sure of commanding. It’s taken time to reassert control over the family.”

“Bullshit.” Stiles replied. “We may not be able to hear your heartbeat, but we know a lie when we hear one. You didn’t attack them because, yeah, sure, the Alpha Pack kills humans, but they kill a lot more werewolves. Everywhere they go, powerful packs get decimated. What’s the best way to defeat an enemy? Get someone else to do it for you.” 

“It’s more complex than that. And, Dad, you don’t have to defend me. I made the decision, and I’d make the same decision again. Sometimes you can’t think about short term appetites.” That was Allison definitely attacking Stiles. “Sometimes you have to think about the long term.”

“Oh, the loooooong term,” Stiles teased. “All we know is that he loved you, and you let him rot in the grip of a mad creature. Well, don’t worry about Scott anymore. He’s ours now.”

Allison gritted her teeth. “Why are you here, Stiles? I’m thinking I might try to kill you to see how hard it's going to be.”

“As we said, we’re here to deliver an invitation and that is best done face-to-face. We saved Scott and we’re taking him home. We’re sure that the Demon Wolf and his merry band will come after us, which means that things are going to be uncomfortable once again in Beacon Hills. That’s fine with us. We’re not satisfied with how things ended last time. Let’s try it once more, **with feeling.** ”

“You’re trying to draw us into a three-way battle in Beacon Hills.” Allison nodded. “You want a war.”

“Chaos and strife are definitely our bag, baby,” Stiles affected an Austin-Powers accent. “We couldn’t possibly let the hunters sit this one out.”

Chris pulled the trigger, but Stiles yanked open the refrigerator door and ducked behind it. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Killing us won’t stop it, even if you managed to get a lucky shot in. Scott’s will go home with or without me. This was just your head’s up.”

Allison stopped her father with a gesture. “Go, Stiles. You aren’t welcome here. Don’t come back.”

Stiles smirked but bowed at the waist and disappeared out the back door. 

“We can go after him.” Chris moved to the back door, looking out into the night.

Allison placed the knife down on the counter. She hugged herself as if she putting herself back together. “No. It planned a way in; it has a way out.” 

“It?” Chris asked.

“Whatever Stiles Stilinski used to be, that’s not what it is any longer,” she stated. “It’s dangerous, and we shouldn’t pretend otherwise.” 

“Allison, you asked me to help you,” Chris said carefully. “Don’t forget that Stiles was once as human as you are. You know what he’s going through, but you’re stronger than him. 

Allison looked like she was going to argue but with an effort, she nodded earnestly. She almost looked like her.

Chris frowned and put his gun away. He examined the hole in the refrigerator. “Are we going to go to Beacon Hills?”

Allison went over and put her head on his shoulder, like the daughter she was clinging to the father he was. “Do we have any choice? I knew what I was doing when I made the decision to undergo the ritual. The town is just as much my responsibility as it is theirs. We’ll do what’s necessary.”

“We always do what is necessary.” He kissed the top of her head. “What about Scott? Do you want to see him?”

“See him?” She laughed and sobbed at the same time. “There is no scenario where Stiles doesn’t tell him what I did. How can I look him in the face?”

Scott knew that was his cue. He could go down there. At one time he could have found the words to express his faith in her, even in the light of something like this. Those days were past. The only thing he could think to do is creep away, so he wouldn’t hurt her more. 

STILES:

They had parked the car where they had stolen it from and went to the local restaurant where they had told Scott to meet them. He was nowhere to be found. The fox was acerbically, almost comically, displeased. _This is your fault._

 _My fault?_ Stiles demanded as they walked Ephrata’s downtown in the middle of the night, searching for his friend. _How is this my fault?_

 _You underestimated him._ The fox replied. _You assumed he would do exactly what you told him to do._

_I underestimated him?_ Stiles laughed internally. _I think you mean to say we underestimated him. Or, there is a possibility we’ve overestimated him and he’s gotten lost. Freedom can be disorienting. Stop being so unbelievably paranoid._

 _Mekuso hanakuso o warau._. The fox groused. _Let’s just find him._

Stiles relaxed when they heard a hissing whisper from an alley. “Hey, Stiles!” They turned around to see Scott McCall emerge from that same alley, soaking wet and a little filthy. 

“Where the hell have you been? We’ve been looking for you a half hour. It’s nearly midnight.” Stiles was exasperated. It wasn’t a feeling they were used to anymore; it brought with it all sorts of memories. “Why are you so wet?”

“We couldn’t really get a motel room, Stiles.” Scott wiggled his claws at him. “What’s the problem? It’s not like Ephrata is dangerous.”

“The problem is we couldn’t find you.” Stiles complained once again. _I know the fact that we might have lost him bothers us probably makes you uncomfortable, Yako, but I’m not sorry._

 _You should be. As I said, that’s entirely your fault._ The fox performed the mental equivalent of a pout. _You and your ridiculous need for people._

 _Hey, I didn’t ask you to move into Casa Stilinski. You should have known what you were getting into. And, all in all, while this may not be exactly what you wanted out of life, but who does? It’s better than a jar or a cell in Echo House, eh?_

The fox harrumphed but said nothing further. 

Stiles walked up to him and put a hand on Scott’s shoulder reassuring himself that he was there. It was a byproduct of the evoked memories. They would have done that gesture in the past. “Have you never heard of a phone?” 

“I don’t actually have a phone. And why are you so upset. Did you think I got hit by a car?” Scott joked. “I’m an alpha werewolf, not a cocker spaniel.” 

“At least tell us you found a motel.” 

Scott smiled at him as if he had won some sort of victory. “I did. Come on.” They picked up their bags from the trains station and walked through the nearly deserted late-night streets. Barely eight thousand people lived in Ephrata. It didn’t have a vibrant night life.

“Did you get everything done that you needed to?” Scott asked. He looked at Stiles expectantly.

Stiles wasn’t going to share with Scott the way they had provoked the Argents. That wasn’t going to lead to anything resembling a good conservation. “Yes. We did. We’re still not going to tell you what it was about.”

“Okay,” Scott answered, good-naturedly. “I hope someday you might be willing to do that. There it is.” He pointed at a simple two story motel about a block and a half from the train station.

Stiles looked over the place. Not a chain motel. Two stories. Not that many cars in the parking lot. Minimal security. “Looks good. You get taught what to look for in a place to stay?”

“Not really. I just paid attention. I was apathetic, not catatonic. Deucalion always preferred motels like this.” Scott observed. “You’ll have to get the room.”

Stiles did get the room and they also snagged an all-night Chinese restaurant’s menu off the counter. They were getting hungry. They’d been so interested in luring the Argents in, they had forgotten to eat. They glanced through the menu. This wasn’t going to be a four-star dining experience. 

The room was clean and it looked comfortable, but otherwise it wasn’t anything to write home about it. It didn’t even have a table just a single bed, a single chair, and a dresser. It did have a simple television. Stiles watched Scott put the bags on down by the wall. They threw himself on the bed to get comfortable and then tossed Scott the menu. “Let’s get something to eat.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Scott dug through his bag for some dry clothes. “If you were in a hospital until six months ago, where did the money for the train tickets and the motel come from?” 

“It is a fact generally known that being poor sucks. We’ve had a lot stashed away in different places just in case we needed it, when we had need to travel without drawing attention.” 

“And when you don’t care about drawing attention?” Scott remarked, pulling his shirt off. 

“Banks aren’t actually using most of that money. We have a use for it.” Stiles stretched out on the bed. “Though we haven’t actually robbed a bank since we escaped from Echo House.” 

Stiles watched Scott through half-hooded eyes. It was interesting plumbing the depths of how much his friend had changed. The old Scott would have been horrified at his nonchalance. At first, they thought that Scott’s silent reaction – sliding onto the bed with the menu – indicated that he didn’t care anymore but they looked closer this time. There were indeed tell-tale signs of disapproval but also reluctance to voice that disapproval. 

“I think I want the garlic chicken,” Scott said. “Two full orders.” 

“Of course.” Stiles answered and pulled out his phone. At least they had one. 

“You’re getting a full order of something,” Scott remarked as he reached for the remote control. “And you’re eating it.”

“We are?” Stiles looked over at him. “We don’t …”

“You’re underweight, and you might have a whole bunch of new powers that I don’t know about, but I do know that you can’t be at your best if your body doesn’t get the food it needs.” Scott turned the television on. “You’re father’s going to have a heart attack already when he sees how thin you’ve gotten.”

Stiles blinked and then gave Scott a glare that the werewolf promptly ignored. That wasn’t going to happen. “We’re not going to see our dad.” Maybe if they sounded angry, Scott would understand.

“Nope. If I have to see my mom, you have to see your dad.” Scott's voice was calm and placid while he switched channels.

“What, are we twelve?” Stiles grumbled. “Scott, you haven’t seen your mother for three years. We saw our father six months ago. We …” 

_Tell him the truth,_ Stiles, said the fox. _In the past, he’s always relented if he knew something would cause you pain._

_I know that._ Stiles reached out and shut the television off by shutting down the power. “We don’t want to see him. It’ll hurt him, Scott. We … there’s a reason we made this deal.”

“I don’t care, Stiles.” He shook the controller and gave him a why-did-you-do-that grimace. “You think that knowing you were in Beacon Hills and didn’t even see him won’t hurt him?” 

“He’ll never know we’re there …” The untruth of that statement tastes sour on his tongue, but they have to say it. 

“You want to pay all debts don’t you? No matter how bad it gets, the debt that never goes away is the one that you owe your parents. Especially one that loves you as much as your father does.”

 _How can he love me?_ Stiles frowned at Scott. Their eyes locked. 

_Don’t look at me,_ hissed the fox. _I don’t care about these type of things._

 _I thought you knew everything._ Stiles couldn’t think of a way to deflect Scott or change his mind. Scott’s gaze was firm and booked no argument. It did not soften at his distress. When did that happen? 

_I know that the toughest bond to break is the bond between parent and child._ The fox said plaintively. It had never liked feeling pain the way Stiles did right then. _But it is the most satisfying one to break. People can survive almost anything but the loss of their child._

Stiles felt beaten, something they hadn’t felt since they had left Echo House. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Shikata na gai"_ is a Japanese idiom: "It cannot be helped."
> 
>  _"Mekuso hanakuso o warau"_ is a Japanese idiom: "Eye scum laughing at nose scum." Roughly -- "The pot calling the kettle black."


	6. Filial Piety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! Suicidal ideation in this chapter by both Scott and Stiles.
> 
> It's occurred to me I never asked for concrete criticism. I love criticism, even negative criticism, if you are willing to discuss it, if you don't use _ad hominem_ attacks, and if you actually talk about the story.

ROUTE 191

It took a whole day to drive from Ephrata to Beacon Hills. Stiles had rented a flashy, overpriced sports car. It was comfortable and fast but it was also terribly conspicuous.

They had pretended the entire trip. They had pretended that they weren’t headed home to face the families whom they had left behind. It only worked because they avoided talking about Beacon Hills completely. Stiles, it seemed, had seen about one movie a week after his escape from Eichen House, and he spoke about them with enthusiasm and with recommendations for the ones they should watch together. Strangely enough, while the Stiles part of the new Stiles still had fondness for action adventure and superhero movies, the fox part of the new Stiles was a bit of an artsy snob. Scott, for his part, talked about sports teams and television programs. With his inability to go out in public and his disinterest in forming real friendships with the other members of the Alpha Pack, he had watched a lot of television when he wasn’t training. 

They had pretended about other things as well. Stiles had pretended that he had rented the car solely because he loved the idea of driving a sports car. He had pretended that it wasn’t intended to leave a paper trail that could draw the Alpha Pack and other enemies to Beacon Hills. Every other time he had just stolen a car in order to make it harder for people to trace them.

Scott, for his part, had pretended that he accepted Stiles’ explanation of why the Green Flash Special Edition Camaro was worth the money and the risk. He had pretended that he hadn’t spied on Stiles with the Argents and didn’t know that his friend was planning to turn Beacon Hills into a war zone.

With all the pretending and the beautiful weather, the day was golden and pleasant. Scott wouldn’t have exchanged it for the world. 

Stiles cursed and pulled the car over to the side of the road a little after nightfall. The road wasn’t a main artery but a seldom-traveled county road, shrouded in a calming twilight. With pursed lips, he slipped out of the car and walked to the front of it, peering forward.

Scott glanced down the road in the same direction, but he couldn’t sense anything amiss. They were in Beacon County; they could be in the city in about twenty minutes. “What’s wrong?”

“You can’t sense that?” Stiles asked incredulously. “Come with us.” Gesturing for Scott to follow him, he stomped down the side of the road, stopping about fifty yards in front of the car. 

Scott followed at an easy pace. As he neared to where Stiles stopped he began to feel a strange pressure, similar, but not exactly like the pressure he felt when he tried to handle or cross mountain ash. It was like pushing against cotton as he moved forward. “What is that?”

“It’s a barrier,” frowned Stiles. “So, you can feel it when you get close? We need to look at it closely; we’ve seen many barriers in the past but this seems unique. Can you keep a watch out?”

“Sure.” Scott watched the gathering gloom for signs of other cars or people. The idea had been to keep their entrance into Beacon Hills quiet so they would have time to visit the people they cared about before encountering the territory’s protectors. The dusk was still beautiful and stars began to appear like spilled jewels across the sky. He tracked insects by the whine of their wings. It was soothing.

Stiles grumbled to himself in Japanese and walked back and forth across the street. He dug around in the dirt and prodded some grass with a loose stick that was lying by. “This is a pain in the ass.” 

Scott grunted in response, implying a question. 

“Someone, and there are several suspects, has placed a barrier here. In its sheer scope, it is extraordinarily powerful. From the way it curves, it might encompass Beacon Hills and most of Beacon County. Now, we can get through and as a True Alpha, you could easily push through, but both of us would set off alarm bells to the person who cast it.” Stiles rubbed his chin. “It would completely keep out low-level supernatural creatures on the level of omegas and below.” 

“Wow. Do you think that Jennifer erected it?”

Stiles grimaced. “Probably. We have no idea how. We’d prefer not to alert Jennifer to our presence just yet, but we can’t trick the barrier until we know how it was put up.” 

Scott tilted his head to the side. “Is it that important?” 

“Oh, yes. You can smash through a barrier with raw power, but it’s … let’s say ‘noisy.’ We want to slip through the barrier without giving Jennifer or whoever actually put it up any indication that we’re through. We’re stuck here until we figure it out.”

Scott settled down next to him. “I’m still keeping an eye out, but what are you missing?”

“The foundation. While magic can create something out of nothing, it takes a lot of energy. It takes much less energy if the magic has a real foundation to which it can be tied. You’ve encountered mountain ash circles. The ash serves as a powerful foundation for the circle. To make something like this barrier exist over an extended period of time and at this strength without a foundation would be like making the Empire State Building disappear. We couldn’t do it. A darach couldn’t do it. Ten darachs couldn’t do it.”

“But you can’t find the foundation. What could it look like?” Scott asked. 

“Well, that’s one of the tough parts. In the mountain ash circle, it’s the mountain ash. But it doesn’t have to be a physical thing. It could be the city limits. It could be the county line. It could be an island or a mountain. When it’s a mental thing – like the county line – its foundation is the mental image people have of Beacon County.”

“Oh. I know what it is.” Scott said. “This is the extent of the Hale’s territory.”

Stiles twisted his head to look at him and for one moment there is the incredulous no-dumbass-a-body-of-water look on his face before it was smoothed out by a glance of amused disbelief. “How do you know that?”

“Deucalion had an old atlas that I read. It mapped out the werewolf territories all across the country. The Hales controlled most of Beacon County but not all of it, because their territory was created first and the county was built around it.”

“Huh. That’s both good news and bad news.” Stiles muttered.

Scott felt both eyebrows go up. He nudged Stiles to explain.

“Well, now that we know the foundation, we can trick it. That’s the good news. The bad news is that it pisses us off. It means Jennifer is still on good terms with Derek.” That rankled Stiles a great deal. “Let me concentrate.”

Scott watched Stiles, slowly and deliberately, start drawing into the ground. He felt he should recognize the symbols, but he didn’t. Instead, he split his attention on keeping an eye out for people and thinking about what they’re riding into. 

The first hurdle would be meeting their parents again, and, to be honest, it was such an enormous hurdle that Scott hadn’t been able to think that far beyond it. Sometimes he thrilled to the idea that he’d be home – legitimately **home** – and then sometimes he’s sick to his stomach with the idea of it. He had no idea what he was going to say to his mother. He kept imagining what questions she would ask him and he still had no answers for those questions.

He tried once more as they waited, and he ended up giving up once again. Scott was probably going to stare stupidly at his mother until one of them broke. Yes, this was going to be an epic disaster. He tried to look past it and decide what would come next. He knew that Stiles had a plan, but beyond general chaos and war, he had no idea what that would be. 

Scott stared into the gathering gloom. Against the obscuring darkness of the future, he felt helpless. He waited until Stiles told him he had done what they needed to do to avoid detection.

###### 

821 WILLIAMSON ROAD

Ever since his father had moved out, they had kept a spare key under a rock beneath the porch. When Scott was younger, he had been quite easily distracted so he frequently left his house keys in his locker or on the desk in his bedroom. It was a necessity when Melissa had been on her shift at the hospital; biking across town could be dangerous and it was certainly time consuming.

The key was still there. Scott held it for a moment. Stiles had dropped him off with the promise to return in a few hours or should Scott call him. They had gotten a disposable phone for their time in Beacon Hills. Scott was so used to not having a phone, he didn’t think he would ever get one.

As he stood in the entryway, he realized that there was no one else home. There were no heartbeats in the house, no footsteps. He closed the door behind him and turned on the light. Staring him in the face were pictures; his mother had put up more photographs since he had been away. Many of them were pictures of him. She’d see his face every time she walked in the door.

But it wasn’t only him. There were pictures of Stiles there. And the sheriff. And Isaac. Most of the newer pictures were Isaac and the sheriff. There were pictures of her with all of them. Scott touched the one of him and his mother at his graduation from middle school.

He was glad she wasn’t home yet. He needed time to adjust. 

Scott felt scalded by his presence in the home. How many times had he walked into this house and ran up the stairs or disappeared into the kitchen to grab a snack and not even paid the slightest bit attention to the recognition of this place as home. Now, it was like the past was driving red hot nails into his spine. And he hadn’t even left the foyer.

He walked into the living room. It was lived in. One of his mother’s magazines was sitting on the end table, open and face down, saving her place. She still insisted on getting hard copies of her favorite magazines. She called herself a primitive, but she just like the feeling of the glossy paper between her hands.

There was also a textbook lying underneath the magazine. It was closed but Scott read the title: Poetry of the Renaissance. He picked it up, careful not to damage it with his claws, and leafed through it. It was a college textbook, and it smelled like Isaac.

Isaac was going to college. Great. Good. Scott carefully put the book down instead of shredding it. He wasn’t going to be jealous. He wasn’t. 

He made his way upstairs. He could spend all night cataloging all the things that had changed and all the things that hadn’t change. There were new light fixtures in the hallway, but the carpet was the same. The guest bathroom had different towels, but the toilet still ran a little long after you flushed it. The house was lived in. People lived here, happily. It was so different than the many places he had stayed while he wasn’t here.

He stopped by the guest bedroom and opened it up. Only, he realized, it wasn’t the guest bedroom any longer. This was Isaac’s room now. There were clothes falling out of a hamper. There was a glass on the desk that should be in the kitchen with dried milk in the bottom. There were posters on the wall that were obviously Isaac’s poster. The room was permeated with his scent.

Scott was glad. His mother hadn’t been alone. She had had a son so she wouldn’t be alone in the house. She had had a son to make breakfast for on Saturday mornings. She had had a son to scold for not cleaning his room. She had had a son who would mow the lawn or bring the Christmas decorations down from the attic.

It just hadn’t been him.

Scott closed the door and went to his own room. He had saved it for last, because he wasn’t sure if he had wanted to go in. What if it was empty? What if she had turned it into a sewing room or the new guest bedroom? What if it was a dusty shrine, a hole in the middle of the house?

The door swung open silently, which should have been his first clue, but he was too anxious with the possibilities to notice. The room was neat and tidy; there was no layer of dust on the floor or on the desk or on the dresser. It must be swept regularly. Scott could barely detect his own scent. There were new curtains on the window and a new bedspread on the bed. But his posters were still there. His clothes were neatly folded in the dresser. His guitar was propped up against the wall but in a different corner than where he had left it. The room wasn’t a shrine. It wasn’t a mausoleum. It wasn’t a spare room. It was his bedroom. It was just waiting for him to come home.

Scott rubbed at his eyes, dashing the tears away. He was an adult, not a toddler. The fact that he still had a bedroom shouldn’t make him break down. He was glad his mother wasn’t home to see this. 

He almost missed it when his mother did come home. He was in his bedroom, lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling when he heard the car pull up. He assumed, at first, that it was one of the neighbors, because it didn’t sound like their old car. Then he realized that she could have gotten a new car.

He crept out of the bedroom and to the top of the stairs, before she could open the door. He would see her before he saw him; he had remembered to turn out the lights so no one could tell he had been there. One of the lessons that Deucalion had taught him was always to have an exit strategy. 

Melissa looked like she always did when she got off a shift. Tired. Exhausted, even. But she always seemed fulfilled. She loved her job, even though the hospital ridiculously overworked her. She might complain about the hours or about her co-workers or about the administrators, but it would never even occur her not to go to work. Not to help people. Scott had so wanted to be her when he grew up.

His mother placed her keys in the bowl in the foyer and wandered into the darkened home, heading toward the kitchen. He could hear the refrigerator door open and close and the clinking noise as she got a beer or some other bottle to drink. He crept down the stairs so carefully as to not give away his position.

He felt like the creature in a monster movie, stalking the unfortunate heroine. The image in his mind made him wince. He certainly looked the part with his blazing red eyes and wicked black claws. He listened to her sit down on the couch, turn on the television, and bring up the DVR. She had a habit of unwinding from work by catching up on the shows she missed. 

He sat in the darkened hall and watched her watch television. He watched her laugh; he watched her fidget when she got bored at commercials. It was creepy, he supposed, but it was also reverential. He couldn’t bring himself to ruin her evening.  
Time passed, and Scott must have relaxed too much. He must have been so lost in simply watching his mother that he failed to notice her becoming aware of him out of the corner of her eye. Or maybe he subconsciously gave away his position on the stairs; he didn’t know for sure.

“Isaac? Is that you?” 

Scott wanted to open his mouth and say something, but he still couldn’t think of anything to say. Instead, he backed up the staircase one stair at a time. 

He heard his mother pause the television and stand up. She called out Isaac’s name once more. 

Scott could smell her; he could hear her heartbeat. Her pulse began to rise slowly, like a fluttering butterfly, with the first faint wisps of anxiety. It was the anxiety when you woke in a strange bedroom and momentarily forget where you were. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

He backed up until he was in the darkness at the top of the stairs. He measured her slow steady gait until she was at the bottom of the stairs. She was looking up at him, though there wasn’t enough light. “Isaac?” She called out once again. “I didn’t think you were coming home tonight.”

That news hit Scott hard. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to see Isaac, too. His mother cocked her head to one side and put a foot on the bottom step. She was going to come upstairs.

“Don’t,” he whispered. Saying the words was as hard as pushing a splinter out of his toe. It would have hurt less to leave the splinter in, to let it fester.

His mother inhaled sharply. It was the gasping shock of recognition. She blinked once, twice, three times. She must be deciding if she had heard what she thought she heard. She took a step up.

“Please don’t,” he choked out. “Please.”

“Baby, is that you?” Melissa’s voice was filled with hope and her eyes shone, not with light but with tears reflecting the light from the living room. “Scott, baby, it’s okay.”

Scott didn’t think it was okay. He wanted to run away, tear back through the hallway and go out his bedroom window. He wanted to change his shape to match the pictures of him on the walls. “I wanted to see you,” he whispered loud enough that she could hear, “but I don’t want you to see me.”

Melissa’s hand tightened on the bannister. She took a deep breathe, probably to figure out what to say. “You know it doesn’t work like that. If you run away, I’ll follow you. If you hide, I’ll find you. I don’t care what you look like or what you’ve done.” 

Scott made a noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a growl and a whimper, but he didn’t move. He closed his eyes, but he couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t there. He heard her take one tentative step up the stairs and then another and then another. This was what he was here for, wasn’t it? 

He heard the upstairs hallways light switch on. He must have been quite a sight, huddled into himself at the top of the stairs, legs coiled under him and ready to flee. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He felt her hands touch his face and then she wrapped herself around him in a hug.

“Oh baby, I’ve missed you so much.”

“I dreamed about you, Mom.” He still didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t want to see her tears. He didn’t want to see the look on her face when she recognized how much he had changed. 

“Are you free?” She asked, rocking him a little. “How did you get away?”

Scott took her hand with his own. He found he couldn’t lie to her, as much as he wanted to. “Stiles. He got me out, but I’m … I’m not free. Deucalion is going to try to take me back.” 

“I won’t let him,” she vowed. “I won’t.”

Scott opened his eyes. “You can’t fight him, Mom. You can’t. You can’t be anywhere near what’s coming. He’s angry.” He saw tears spilling down her cheeks. “I didn’t come back to watch you die. I just had to see you, before …” 

She reached up to stroke his hair. “Before he comes for you?” 

Scott thought back to Habesha, the Ethiopian alpha. “Mom, I won’t let him take me again.” 

She gripped him tightly. “No, don’t say that. There’s got to be a way you can stay free.” She looked at him the same way she looked at him the first time he had an asthma attack. She looked at him like she wanted to lock him away. 

“You don’t understand, Mom, what … what I am now.” He brought up his hand and rested it on her arm, so she could feel the claws. “If he got hold of me again … I don’t want that.” He knew he was hurting her but he also felt the truth most clearly right here and now. This house was barely his house in every way that mattered; this woman didn’t love him because she didn’t know who he actually was. 

“Then you fight him and you win,” Melissa said fiercely. “And you get all the help you need. I’m not going to lose you, do you hear?” 

Scott didn’t want to lie, so he changed the subject. He used to be so sure about the future, but that was no longer the case. He didn’t think that what he thought or didn’t think about the future mattered. All he could do was react to the present. Right then, the present was spending a night with his mother.

They talked about her. She was still working at the hospital, but they had finally recognized her talents and made her an administrator. She did pull a few shifts as a nurse when they needed it, which Scott though must endear her to the other nurses. She could do things like repair the house and take vacations. She had gone to Spain. 

Scott had gone to Spain as well on the way to the Netherlands. He didn’t mention it. He didn’t want to share anything about the past with his mother. Most of it would make her worry; some of it would make her sick. Instead, he asked her about Isaac.

She looked stricken for a second. “You … don’t think …”

It took Scott a moment to realize what she thought. “No. No, I’m glad he was here. I’m glad he’s here now. I’m happy for both of you.” It was true. “Could you do me a favor?”

“Of course.” 

“Don’t tell him I was here?” Scott pleaded earnestly. “It’s not that I don’t want to see him or think he will hate me, but … it’s a werewolf thing. No matter what happened in the past, I’m still an alien alpha in his alpha’s territory. It’d put him in a tough position.” 

“Honey, don’t you think he’d want to see you?” Melissa could be stubborn about the whole werewolf thing. She had always insisted he be human first. 

“I will see him. Tell me about him.” They kept talking until he realized she was very tired. She didn’t have his stamina and she had come back from a long shift at work. They had a small fight as he insisted she go to bed. 

She made him promise that she would see him again. He felt really bad lying to her.

###### 

129 WOODBINE LANE

Stiles kept looking at him as they sat in the car outside the Stilinski house. “Okay. You’re being awfully quiet.”

Scott grunted. 

Stiles sighed. “Let us try that again. Scott, would you like to tell me why you are being awfully quiet?” 

Scott glanced over at him. “I feel like I’m faking it.” 

Stiles scrunched up his face in confusion. “Faking what, precisely?”

“I wanted to come home, and I wanted to see my mother. I’ve come home. I’ve seen my mother. It should be important, but … it isn’t real to me.” Scott snarled in frustration. “If felt real when I did it. It felt real when I cried. It felt real when my mom and I talked for hours. Now … it feels like I was acting.”

Stiles tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “So you think you were just going through the motions with your mother? Or do you think your feelings change about what happened. It’s an important difference.”

Scott didn’t answer. He should be sure that the way his heart soothed itself when his mother held him was genuine or not. But he wasn’t. 

“Talk. What do you feel about us right now?” Stiles arched one eyebrow. 

“I don’t want to let you out of my sight, but I don’t trust you. I’m still not sure who you are.” Scott said carefully. “But I want to know who you are.” 

Stiles blew a raspberry. “You’re an idiot.” It wasn’t mean when he said it; it was so much like the way the old Stiles would have done.

“I’m … sorry?” 

“You’re a dumbass, and you never learn.” Stiles replied scathingly. “Close your eyes. Come on, do it.”

Scott looked at him and then closed his eyes, slowly. 

“Now, we want you to fall rapturously and completely in love with us. We want you to worship the ground we walk on. Do it now.” Stiles commanded.

“Uh.” Scott’s eyes flashed open and he turn to Stiles. “I can’t do that.” 

“You mean that you can’t force your emotions on and off like a light switch? You can’t dial up love immediately when we’ve spent years apart and changed so much? Why not?” Stiles’ sarcasm flooded the car. “Dumbass,” he spat again.

Scott rolled his eyes. Yeah, Stiles was right. “But are my feelings real or not?” 

Stiles leaned over and flicked his ear, hard. “Of course they’re real. All of them, the good and the bad. How much time did you spend resisting Duke’s emotional manipulation? How much effort did you put into not letting him dig down into your soul? Before that, how much time did you spend resisting Derek? Or Peter? Or your dad? You’ve got a habit, son. It’s how you protected yourself, and it’s going to be hard to break it. Even if you want to.”

“You emotionally manipulate me.” Scott joked though down deep he meant it. He understood that Stiles needed him right where he was. 

“We’ve known you for longer than anyone else in your life, and we’re really, **really** good at it. You won’t be able to stop us.” Stiles joked back, but Scott could tell that he also meant it. It was a sincere declaration. 

Scott looked out the window. “Oh, thank God. Your dad’s home. Now you get to be the one who’s emotionally conflicted.”

Stiles didn’t answer that. “All right. My dad has a pattern. We give him five minutes, and then we go in. He’ll be out of Sheriff Mode and hopefully he won’t pull his gun. Just a warning, we’ll stop him if he tries to use the phone.”

Scott nodded his agreement. They would face Derek soon enough. 

The Stilinski House had been well cared for, they could tell in the stark morning light. As the mist burned itself off the yard, the lawn revealed itself to be neatly trimmed with new hedges and a flower bed. The house had a fresh coat of paint and every window had curtains. Stiles had remarked that either his father had hired someone to do it, because most of those things hadn’t been particularly important to the old Stiles or his father. 

The five minutes crawled by. Scott kept an eye and a nose fixed on Stiles, but where once he would have been a bundle of nerves, he could barely tell that he was indeed anxious.

“You don’t have panic attacks any more, do you?” Scott asked. 

“No. We don’t freak out when we can’t control things any more. Part of us learned long ago that patience can be extraordinarily useful.” Stiles glanced at him and smirked. “And besides, control is overrated.”

“But you’re still nervous.” 

Stiles nodded. “We did it for him, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to hate us.”

Before Scott could offer any words of encouragement, Stiles opened the door and walked to the front of it. He drew a key from his pocket. Scott hurried after him. “What if he changed the locks?”

“He didn’t.” Stiles answered, calmly. “We checked when you were at home.” 

The door did indeed open to his key and they went in. Scott was outwardly the more nervous of the two, but even he could sense the tension in Stiles. He hadn’t wanted to do this. 

Noah Stilinski came out of the kitchen without his shoes and a glass of milk. As expected, he was decompressing after a long day at the office. When he saw the two of them standing there, his face contorted with the emotions passing through it. Hope, anger, confusing, and fear warred for place there. As the sheriff reacted, Scott and Stiles just stood there. Scott wasn’t going to take the lead here.

Noah put the glass down on an end table carefully and gingerly as if reasserting control over his environment. “Why are you here?”

“To see you.” Stiles’ voice was calm and steady with a note of hope. 

“Just to see me?” The sheriff acted as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “I meant, why are you back in Beacon Hills?” 

“I wanted to see you.” Stiles lied. Scott knew it was a lie; he felt the same way. He also noted the effort Stiles made to use singular pronouns with his father. So, he could do it if he wanted to. Scott wasn’t sure if that made him feel good or bad. Did Stiles talk in that strange way of his because he didn’t think Scott would care or because he didn’t care if Scott would care? 

“Also, I guess, I have other reasons,” Stiles admitted. “I brought Scott home.”

Noah immediately looked over at him. Recognition flashed over them and then the edges of a relieved smile. “Scott, it’s great to see you. How are you?” 

“I’m …” Scott swallowed. “I’m okay, Sheriff.”

“Have you been to see your mother?” The Sheriff kept his eyes fixed on him. 

“Yeah. That’s where we went first.” Scott didn’t know exactly what Stiles had done while he was with his mother, but he didn’t want to make it seemed like Stiles put his father at a lower rank in importance. The real reason is that they wanted to meet with the sheriff somewhere he couldn’t cause trouble if he felt he needed to.

“Is that why you left?” Noah turned to look Stiles directly in the eyes. “Did you leave to go rescue Scott?” 

“It was one of the reasons.” Stiles replied with conviction. Gone was the dip in the eyes or the quiver in the jaw when he had to tell his father lies. “There were others, but I knew I could free him.” 

The sheriff trembled. Scott imagined that there was a part of him that wanted to rush forward and grab his son and crush him back into shape with his arms. Scott imagined that there was a part of him that felt this was a trick. Scott imagined that there was a part of him that though he was in danger.

“Are you my son?” It burst out of the sheriff’s mouth with bitter anger.

“Yes, I am.” Stiles said immediately. “And, no, I’m not.” 

“Fuck you and your fucking riddles,” Noah grated out. “What does that mean?” 

“Everything that your son was is still here. I still know everything that he knew; I still felt everything he felt. There’s just … more.” Stiles shrugged. “And I know it’s not what you would consider good …”

“No. It’s not. That thing killed people, Stiles.” The sheriff’s voice cracked. “They told me that the only way you could get out is if you made a deal with it.”

Stiles nodded. “That’s true. And I did.”

“Why?” Noah demanded. “Why did you leave?” 

“Dad, do you know what low-dosage injections of vulpinic acid does to the human body? It was the only way to keep the fox quiet, but it was terrible. There were days where I was so nauseated that I couldn’t open my eyes without throwing up. There were days where I was so weak that I couldn’t lift my arms. It caused sores in my esophagus that meant I had to be fed intravenously. And then, there were the nights where I was off the lichen, and I’d torture myself.” Stiles swallowed. “Two years I stayed there; two years in a cell that smelled like vomit.” 

Scott shot a glance at Stiles. He hadn’t known about that. He couldn’t imagine it. He felt sick; he’d only been worried about himself so he had never asked. 

“And then I thought of all the people who had caused this, who were outside of Echo House, having lives. I thought about Deucalion turning Scott into … “ Stiles pointed at Scott. “Into that. Tell him, Scott, tell him what it was like.” 

The sheriff slid his eyes to Scott who couldn’t meet them. He didn’t say anything. He felt ashamed. 

“And then Jennifer would come and ‘oversee’ my imprisonment. She was never cruel. Oh, no! She was kind, so kind, and she smiled. She smiled like she was doing us … me a favor!” Stiles was angry. “If she hadn’t been so fucking crazy, if she hadn’t felt that her revenge was the most important thing in the world, I wouldn’t be there. I couldn’t take it. And then she’d bring Derek as if it were some sort of motherfucking date!” 

The sheriff was watching him with that wariness but Scott stole a glance and see that the corners of his eyes soften. 

“And then there was you.” Stiles breathed out. 

“Me?” Noah winced and his eyes opened.

“I watched you, Dad. You came every week. I could time it like clockwork. And I loved you for it, but I saw what it was doing to you. I saw the look on your face. It was the same look. The same look you had when you visited Mom in the hospital. That look of hope that you plastered on like a mask so Mom wouldn’t be too upset. You always tried to make me feel like this was temporary, that there was hope, that there’d be a cure any day now. I could see you fading. I couldn’t do that to you anymore; you didn’t deserve to go through this twice.”

“Of course, I deserved it.” Noah shouted. “That what parents do for their children. There is no one, **no one** more important than you.”

“Dad, you would have spent your whole life looking at me through the windows in a cell. It would have killed you, Dad.” There was more emotion to Stiles’ voice. “There were only two ways I could save you. I could kill myself. I had a couple of ways to do it. Or I could get out. And I needed the fox for that. In the end, I didn’t want to die.” 

“Stiles!” Noah was red-faced and devastated. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. “It’s too late now, but I wondered what I needed to do to get it through your thick head that it was my responsibility to look out after you. Not just when it is convenient. Not just when there is an end in sight. I’m supposed to look out for you no matter what. And you took that away from me."

“You didn’t even think that maybe I knew about the weakness, about the nausea, about the esophageal lesions.” The sheriff spat out the medical term. “Eichen House sent me e-mails with status reports every day. I talked with Alan, with Melissa, even with Jennifer about finding a less poisonous way to suppress the fox. I got into their faces at least once a month, trying to make your life better.” 

Stiles jaw fell open a little.

“Do you think I like watching Jennifer Blake or Julia Baccari or whatever the hell she is named this week walking around like she didn’t murder twelve innocent people? Do you think it doesn’t stick in my craw that Scott had to go off with that mass-murderer to save my life? But I had to do what was best for everyone, and that includes you. You do realize that it was your face that killed those people, right? And the courts aren’t going to accept that a nogitsune did it!” Noah ran a hand over his head. “I had to compromise to protect this town and to protect you, and I would do it a million times over. I’d burn the sheriff station down to protect you.”

The sheriff took a step forward. “And nuts to my mental state. There was still hope. There was a whole world out there that I hadn’t managed to investigate yet. Do you know how much I’ve learned about the supernatural in the years you were in Eichen House? I’d just scratched the surface, and I would have spent the rest of my life, every moment of every day and every penny I ever earned to find a way to help you. I listen to you talk now, and you know what I hear? That you – not the fox, but you -- didn’t believe I could do anything. That I’m so fragile that I couldn’t help my own son. That you didn’t believe me when I said there was hope.” Noah’s voice cracked. “Your mother would have believed in me.” 

“We’re … I’m sorry, Dad.” Stiles’ composure shattered as if cracks appeared in steel. “I’m sorry. I thought it was for the best.” 

“Now, I’ve learned enough to know what you are now. Who you are. You’re a void kitsune, and there’s no cure for that just like there was no cure for Scott.” The sheriff sighed. “I just want my son back.”

“You never lost him,” Stiles’ eyes glistened. Scott hadn’t seen him with that true an emotion on his face. “He’s just different. We didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

Scott turned away from the scene, because he had never felt more like an intruder than at this moment. He moved out of the house, careful to shut the door and focus his hearing elsewhere. Stilinski tears were private.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No matter how much I researched, I really couldn't find the actual effects of vulpinic acid on the human body. So this is faux-medicine.


	7. Antipathy

BEACON HILLS ANIMAL CLINIC

The first thing that crossed Scott’s mind when he entered the clinic was the amazement that Mrs. Tancredi’s Siamese cat Hadji-Ba-Ba was still alive. By this point, the evil thing must have been nearly twenty years old, and Scott had been taught that that breed’s life span averaged about ten to twelve years. Perhaps it was staying alive out of pure spite, because when he had worked here, he had never handled a meaner cat. The first thing that Scott had done when all the cats at the clinic committed suicide during his junior year was check to see if that little bundle of ever-living orneriness had been one of the victims. Unfortunately, it was not. 

Alan Deaton looked up from his discussion with Mrs. Tancredi when the bell rang. Scott had his hands jammed into his jacket pockets, and he had fixed his eyes on the poster urging customers to neuter their pets. He imagined he looked like a bored young adult who wanted to be anywhere but the veterinarian’s office. Of course, he was just anxious. Terribly anxious. Alan paused, which was shocking as showing surprise was something he seldom had done, for about thirty seconds while the flicker of some emotion crossed his face, but then he was right back to talking about Hadji-Ba-Ba’s hair loss. 

One of the things that Scott had always cherished about his time being Deaton’s assistant was the man’s preternatural calm. People thought it meant he didn’t care, but he always did care. He would slowly and carefully examine any problem you brought to him like handling old china. He was deliberate in his solutions. It felt good to have someone who at least appeared to know what they were doing, especially when Scott didn’t.

Scott waited patiently until Mrs. Tancredi left. She hadn’t even looked at him long enough to recognize him from so many years before. He had waited often on her and her evil cat before, but now he was a stranger. He turned to watch her leave through the front window. 

Deaton cleared his throat. Scott turned back around to find the man looking at him with the same expression in his eyes that were there the last time they had spoken. Regret was buried at the corners, and concern blossomed in the center. “Hello, Scott. I’m glad to see you.” 

Scott took a deep breath, clenched his fists in his pocket even though it caused him paint, and shuffled half a step forward. He moved slowly, because the truth was that Deaton might consider him a threat, no matter how glad he was to see him. Scott had to remember that everyone in this town might consider him a danger. “I … I’m glad to see you, too.” He winced; he sounded like a greeting card. This would have been so much easier if he knew what the druid thought of him. “Uhm …”

“Would you like to step in the back where we can talk more privately?” With deliberate slowness, Deaton opened the wooden gate to the work area. It was an offer of hospitality; it broke the seal of the mountain ash and removed some of the protection that the older man had. It was trust.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Recently, words had been coming out of his mouth before he was sure he wanted to say them. Scott didn’t take those words back though; he didn’t want to presume anything about what type of relationship he could or should have with Deaton. That wasn’t the way to find out where you belonged.

“Is there a reason I should be worried?” Deaton took Scott’s tone seriously, but he did not seem alarmed in the slightest.

“You don’t know me anymore.” Scott answered slowly. “That’s not a threat; it’s the truth. I just want to be honest.”

Deaton allowed a small smile to play across his lips. “I’m sure you’ve changed, Scott, but I don’t think you’ve changed that much. Please, come on back.” 

The backroom hadn’t changed much at all in three years. The veterinarian had bought a few new pieces of equipment but Scott was confident that, if asked, he could find anything in here that Deaton needed. “Uh, so, I guess … I need to do this formally.” He cleared his throat. He had learned a little about werewolf etiquette from his time with Deucalion. “Are you the Hale Pack Emissary?”

Deaton pursed his lips. “The answer to that is more difficult than it should be.” He studied Scott for a moment as if trying to predict what this was about. “Are you announcing your presence? I believe I do have the authority to act in that capacity, at least.” 

“Okay. As an alpha entering the territory of another, I request a meeting with Alpha Hale. I pledge that until this meeting is resolved, there will be no hostile actions taken by my pack against his.” Scott thought he had gotten that right. He was concerned by the idea that the relationship between Deaton and Derek wasn’t clear.

“Are you speaking as the leader of your pack?” The question was outside the bounds of normal etiquette, but so was the Alpha Pack. The first time they had come, Derek had had no emissary, so they had painted their sign on the door. Deaton’s eyes calculated the possibility that Scott was acting as Deucalion’s envoy. 

“I am the Alpha of my small pack. Stiles is the only other member of it.” It felt good to say that. They hadn’t discussed it, but Scott had started thinking of things that way on the drive to Beacon Hills.

The veterinarian did not share his contentment. “I will deliver the message, Alpha McCall.” Deaton frowned slightly. “You’re familiar with what happened to Stiles, aren’t you?”

“I know what he is now. I also know that if it weren’t for him, I’d still be with Deucalion.” Scott answered the only way he knew how. “I’m not expecting anyone to like it, but … part of him is still the best friend I’ll ever have and …” He stood up straight. “He saved me; I owe him.” 

Deaton mulled that over for a minute. “Okay. Scott, I want you to know I tried everything I could to help Stiles. When I suggested the sacrifice back then, this was not the end I envisioned for either of you.” 

“I know that, Doc. He does, too.” Scott hoped that the tone of his voice conveyed the sincerity of those words. Even as they were now, neither of them blamed Deaton. No matter the consequences, he had helped save those who had to be saved. “How have you been?”

“As you might imagine, I no longer find life in Beacon Hills particularly agreeable.” Deaton replied with just a hint of fatigue. “However, I have responsibilities here, so I won’t abandon them.”

Scott blinked in surprise. Of course, it was possible that Deaton wouldn’t be completely okay with everything that had happened, but he hadn’t expected it. 

“I take what I let happen to you and Stiles as a personal failure.” It was delivered with a steady heart and an open voice. “I thought I was helping, but in the end, I just traded one tragedy for another. I ruined families. A mistake of that caliber requires penance.”

“You have nothing to … !” Scott nearly shouted. If it was anyone’s fault, it was his. Deaton shouldn’t feel responsible for his decisions. “You didn’t make me take Deucalion’s offer! You couldn’t predict that the fox would take over Stiles. All you did was give us a chance to save our parents.”

They stare at each other after Scott’s outburst. He wanted Deaton to be the one who always had the answers, not simply another person burdened by failure. Deaton wasn’t looking him in the eye; instead, he was staring at Scott’s hands, which he had yanked from their pockets when he made his furious denial. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Deaton was supposed to tell him what he was doing wrong and how he could fix it. 

“Forgive me.” Deaton folded his hands behind him. “But I see it differently. You’ll let me have that, won’t you?”

“Of course, Doc.” Scott nodded, understanding that Deaton wasn’t going to say anything about the claws unless Scott brought it up. He slid them back into his pockets. Where others might jump to conclusions, one of the things Scott loved about Deaton was his unshakable resolution not to say anything at all unless he was absolutely sure about what he was saying. Other people found the man’s reticence mysterious or frustrating or both, but Scott found it calming. If Deaton said something, Scott could trust it. If Deaton wasn’t sure, he could trust that as well. He much preferred the veterinarian’s hedging than someone saying “I’ll see you in two weeks” and never actually showing up.

There was another reason why Scott would always trust Deaton “Would you mind if I ask you a question? It’s a pretty sensitive question, so I’ll understand if you say no.” 

“You want to know about Jennifer Blake.” Deaton could always read him. 

Scott nodded. “Stiles told me about the ritual marriage but he didn’t go into much detail. He was pretty angry about the whole thing. And while I want to know as much as you can tell me, I only need to know what to expect. Is she going to come at me?” 

“To be honest, I don’t think Derek would let her come after you.” Deaton gathered himself to begin the tale. “You need to understand the situation immediately after you … left with Deucalion. After freeing the Guardian sacrifices, no one knew for sure where the Alpha Pack had gone. With her identity revealed, Jennifer was becoming desperate. But, unfortunately, so were we.”

Deaton’s eyes wandered to the back room where he kept the horse troughs. “We weren’t helpless, but neither were we in any shape to confront either your pack or an empowered darach. Derek, Peter, Cora and Isaac were still werewolves, but without an alpha they were quickly becoming omegas. There was also the approaching eclipse to take into account.” He sighed. “Your mother, the Sheriff, and Mr. Argent were fatigued by their captivity. Isaac, Allison, and Stiles were …” Deaton thought about his words carefully. “… emotionally distraught. Peter successfully argued that if Jennifer could not find your pack by the eclipse, she would resort to intimidation and extortion to force us into her service or even attempt to complete the Guardian sacrifices once again. Rather than allow her to cause more destruction in her desperation, my sister and I suggested the marriage ritual as a way to temper her power. That it made Derek an alpha again was good fortune, though if we had thought about it carefully, we should have been prepared for that eventuality.” 

Scott frowned. Why had he thought that going with Deucalion would keep everyone safe? He should have gotten word to someone somehow the moment he knew what the alpha pack was planning. “Why did she consent to it, especially if it would allow Derek to control her?”

“It seems that as twisted as they were, Jennifer’s feelings for Derek were genuine. In some sick way, she loved him. She was more than willing to undergo the ritual, which would benefit her by completing the Guardian sacrifice, though she did not gain as much power as she would by killing your parents. It seems that in her mind, she not only gained power and a way to defeat your pack, but she also gained Derek’s devotion. She was … eager.”

Scott couldn’t stop wincing whenever Deaton said ‘your pack.’ The truth could be painful sometimes. Even with the best of intentions, nothing could change the fact that he had ended up standing with the bad guys. In the eyes of his friends and his family, at that point, he had to understand that he was a bad guy.

“I performed the ritual with Marin to restore balance to Beacon Hills. That doesn’t mean I was pleased by its enactment.” Deaton sighed. “As for how Jennifer sees you, I could not tell you. My interactions with the Hale Pack are formal and minimal.”

“Why? You did what you could …”

“Jennifer is suspicious of me, and with good reason. She understands that there will always be a cold war between us. There are also members of the Hale Pack that blame me for both rituals. Derek keeps our interactions to a minimum for the sake of peace.”

Scott hadn’t noticed it until Deaton had said something, but there were only the faintest traces of the scents of people he knew. The pack hadn’t come by for months; his mother or the sheriff hadn’t come by for even longer. The veterinarian had not only felt forced to remain in this place, but he had to do it as a pariah. “You must be lonely.”

Deaton did not answer. Instead, he turned away. “If you’ll wait here, Scott, I’ll call Derek.” 

Scott kept saying things that hurt without thinking. He blurted out. “I … I’ll wait out in the lobby.” 

“There’s no need. No one can overhear me in my office. I also sweep it for bugs regularly.” The veterinarian glanced over his shoulder, smiled wryly and then disappeared. 

Scott was alone in the back room. The place was so solid; there was no other word to describe it. He had been taught by Deucalion that locations like the clinic were best thought of as castles. They were important for people like Deaton, who had worked their heart and soul – their belief – into the very fabric of the building. It wasn’t just mountain ash and herbs. This was his place of power.

Strangely enough, this made Scott like it even more. Once again, he was in a place where someone was more powerful than he was, but this person was his friend. He could listen to Deaton and do what he asked and for once not worry about how it was going to twist him. He couldn’t even do that with Stiles, not anymore.

Deaton emerged from his office; face set in a parody of his usual calm demeanor. One hand was clenched into a fist. “Alpha McCall, officially, I have to tell you that Alpha Hale is willing to meet with you at sundown at the Nemeton. However, as much as he appreciates your offer of a truce until then, he cannot extend the same to the members of your pack.” 

Scott took about five seconds to process the meaning behind the words. “God damn it. He’s going after Stiles.” He sprinted towards the front of the clinic. 

Scott was aware of Deaton’s gaze on the back of his head, but he couldn’t stop. As much as there was a part of him that wanted to ask Deaton what to do, he simply didn’t have time, and he was pretty sure that Deaton would be conflicted in this situation. Chemo signals told him what Deaton felt towards him, but experience told him that if Deaton felt a duty to Derek, he wouldn’t’ take sides. 

Scott cursed at Derek once again. Why couldn’t the alpha have trusted him? With a bitter laugh, he realized that time had shot its best bolt: irony. Before, it was Derek’s decisions that convinced Scott that he couldn’t trust him: giving Jackson the bite in the hope it would kill him, turning three teenagers when just a few days before Derek had told him that the Argents were declaring war, and determining that people had to die without truly understanding what was actually going on. Derek’s most important motivation back then was guilt, and you don’t make good decisions based on guilt.

But now, who had made the bad decisions? Who was a member of the Alpha Pack? Who was harboring a void kitsune? Who was endangering a peaceful town by stirring up past trouble? It wasn’t Derek. No, if Scott was in Derek’s place, he wouldn’t trust him either.

That didn’t matter now. He needed to find Stiles, and he needed to get him somewhere safe. As he rushed down the street, he dialed Stiles’ phone. Stiles picked up immediately.

“Stiles! Derek didn’t listen. They’re coming for you.” He shouted into the phone. “Where are you?”

“Well, that explains the ex-lizard tailing us,” Stiles chuckled. “And we’re assuming that they’ll be coming for you as well.”

Scott couldn’t refute that. “Where are you? We need to stick together.”

“Don’t panic. The day we can’t lose an Abercrombie & Fitch model in a crowd is the day Derek Hale shaves his eyebrows. How do you want to play this?”

Scott slowed to a stop. Stiles was asking him for a plan? That wasn’t how things used to work. Then it occurred to him that wasn’t what Stiles was asking him. Stiles would make the plan, but his friend wanted him to determine the goal of that plan. It made him feel strangely light inside.“We need a fight.” Scott decided. “Something that will make them back off without escalating the conflict. Something that will make them **want** to talk. Can you do that?”

Stiles made a disbelieving noise over the phone. “You want violence that sends a message. Yeah. It’s just what we’ve been doing for a thousand years!” He clucked his tongue in derision. While Stiles was thinking, Scott slowed down his pace. Running without a destination in mind was just wasting energy. He tried to push away that the idea that it could be an apt metaphor for his life at this moment.

“Okay. We have something; it’s not our best work, but we’re pressed for time. And if Derek and Jennifer show up, it won’t work at all.” Stiles finally said. 

“I think they’re too far away. If either of them were close enough to get to us, he wouldn’t have agreed to a meeting at sundown. That’s his backup plan.” Scott remembered that Derek tended to want to be present when violence was going to happen, but if he wasn’t able to be, he’d use that to his advantage, such as when he sent Erica and Isaac to kill Lydia, while he and Boyd distracted Scott.

“Fine, but if they show up, we have to be ready to bail. Meet us in the North Beacon Mall,” Stiles answered. “Ten minutes. We’ll already be inside.”

Scott swallowed. “That’s intentional, isn’t it?” This was the same abandoned mall where he had tried to reason with Deucalion and it had turned into an epic clusterfuck.

“Yup. Past associations can be distracting. Reminding your enemy of their failures gives you sente.” Stiles chuckled. “When you get there, do what you do best. We have to hang up now; we’ll need to concentrate to do this right. We’ll call you soon.”

“Okay. Be safe, Stiles.” Scott hung up as he moved through the streets on foot. He could move faster than his friend, so Stiles had the car. It was in the middle of the day and he was surrounded by people living their normal lives, so he didn’t move as fast as he could have. He certainly wasn’t going to sprint down on all fours. That always looked so stupid.

###### 

NORTH BEACON MALL

Beacon Hills had undergone a building boom in 1990s in expectation of population growth and economic prosperity. It was the era of the tech boom, and people dreamed of Silicon Valley expanding all the way out to Beacon County. The Hales had been at the forefront of the effort, but when the bust happened, they were revealed to have carefully prepared for such a risk. Other speculators had not been so wise, and many had gone bankrupt.

And so there were a number of empty buildings owned by the Hale Family. Technically, Scott realized, they were owned by Derek Hale. He snorted – they were going to be fighting on Derek’s territory in more ways than one.

He didn’t have much time to look around as he ran as fast as was humanly possible to get to the mall, but even at his rapid pace he could see that Beacon Hills hadn’t changed much. He recognized stores he had once shopped in. He recognized the restaurant that his mother had taken him to in order to celebrate a raise she had received. Things like that still happened here. Life had gone on without him.

Eventually he saw the empty, ghostly hulk of the mall, promising nothing but bad memories for him. Deucalion was the one who had chosen it for their clandestine meeting so long ago. He had originally been frustrated with Derek for getting Isaac to spy on him and ruining his chances at negotiating peace for the sake of a poorly thought-out ambush. Now, thinking back, he wondered if Deucalion had intended to take him right then and there. Negotiating with Deucalion might have worked, but only if Scott hadn’t actually been the Alpha of Alpha’s target. Derek had done him a favor. 

He tried to recreate the layout of the mall in his mind, so he could plot out places to hide and ways to escape. Standing next to the mall was a parking garage with opened wall; it would be useful to get a little altitude. It would give him a clearer view of the terrain. He had reached the third floor when he got a text. As expected, it was from Stiles; he was the only person who had this number. 

_Listen, but don’t speak._

He frowned in confusion momentarily until the phone rang. As instructed, he picked up the call but didn’t say anything. 

“Hey, Jackson.” Stiles drawled over the telephone; his voice was distorted. “I’d ask you why you were following me, but since you barely said six words to me until sophomore year, I’m pretty sure it’s stupid werewolf stuff.”

From the faintness of Jackson’s response, he wasn’t anywhere near Stiles. “You were an idiot then, and you’re an idiot now. Why the hell did you come back? What did you think was going to happen?” 

Stiles must have turned the gain on the phone as high as it could go. It was what distorted the voice, but it helped Scott’s hearing pick out Jackson. “Well, since I’ve been here for a few days, I thought I might be able to do my business and leave. I was born here, remember? To satisfy my curiosity, where’d you pick up my trail?”

“Your car.” Even through the phone, Scott could hear Jackson’s bravado creak. If Stiles was playing a role by acting like Old Stiles, Jackson was playing a role by acting like Old Jackson. He could sound as arrogant and materialistic as ever, but there was a note of concern in his voice. Jackson knew what he was facing. 

“Ugh. Well, my plans can’t be perfect all the time. How **is** the werewolfing going, Jacky? Talk to Lydia lately?”

Jackson growled. “Once an ass, always an ass.” There was anger there. “You always come out swinging.”

“What can I say?” Stiles sing-songed. “It’s a habit. So how much time do I have?”

Scott can hear the faint sounds of Jackson moving around. He’s not hiding anymore; he’s looking for Stiles. Luckily, finding Stiles when he’s hiding has become significantly harder over the years. “Like I’d tell you. What’s your plan? If you knew what’s good for you, you’d run.” 

Scott swore he could hear Stiles bristle over the phone. “You weren’t here during my debut, Jackson, but surely they told you that I’m a little bit better at planning. Or, more precisely, we’re a little bit better at planning. Maybe we lured you into this mall, so we could blow up the entire pack once they get here. Or maybe, we had something special here, Jacky-boy, just for **you.** ”

Stiles must be moving, so quietly. He’s playing keep away from Jackson. Scott couldn’t tell why, but he was going to trust that Stiles knew what he was doing. He moved to the edge of the parking garage. He could see into the mall through a great big pane of glass. There was movement in there, so he focused on it.

“Hey, Jackson, tell us this. What has only ever been yours, but someone else gave it to you?” 

“They told me you went crazy, Stilinski, but they didn’t tell me how much you went off the rails. Are you sure you don’t want to go back to Eichen House?”

“Answer the riddle, Jackson, though an ex-roid-head like you might not be able to think that clearly.” Scott detected the hissing irritation in Stiles’ voice. “They told you what we could do, right? What we are?”

“Maybe. I wasn’t listening.” There was a thump. Jackson must have leapt from one place to another. Scott clenched his fingers. Maybe he should go over there, but Stiles hadn’t given him the signal yet. 

“We can see the holes in things and places and people, Jackson. Where they’re weak. We see it and then we push. Given enough time and enough holes, we can break anything. What has only ever been yours, but someone else gave it to you?” 

Scott wasn’t sure what Stiles goal was, but he did manage to solve the riddle. It was your name, which is tied to your identity. He was pretty sure that Stiles was threatening to turn Jackson back into the kanima. He didn’t really know if Stiles could do it, but the point was to unsettle Jackson.

“Stop it, Stilinski.” A new voice spoke broke the silence, and it was a voice that Scott new. “You’re being more of an asshole than usual.” 

“HI, Cora. Maybe we don’t like being stalked. You’d be frightened, too, if you had a pack of werewolves after you.” Stiles called out, contritely. 

“Don’t bullshit me.” Cora answered, her voice just as fiery as ever. “Why not just come on out? You don’t think you can get away, do you?” 

“Oh, we think we can, especially against the two of you. We’re clever like that, and Jackson’s never been very savvy. He’s overconfident and easy to fool.”

Scott smirked, but only a little, as he picked up Jackson’s faint growl. Cora was more cautious even as she snapped in her anger. “You know we have you surrounded.”

“Do we?” Stiles laughed out loud. “We know where you are – standing right next to the spot where Kali stood on your neck. How does that feel? And Jackson’s right next to you. We know that Malia and Isaac’s here, though we don’t quite know where they are. We also know that there’s one more wolf but he or she is being very stealthy. We still like our odds.” 

Scott calculated where he was in relation to them. Stiles was on the fifth floor at the same height he was. Jackson and Cora were on the fourth floor in the central mezzanine. He hoped that Stiles could locate the others. 

“It can’t possibly be Derek; the alpha wouldn’t show up without the missus. And if he were here, he’d be stomping around growling ‘I’m the alpha! I’m the alpha!’“ Stiles imitation was pretty spot on. 

“Maybe he doesn’t think he needs to be here when we take you down.” Isaac’s voice made Scott’s heart skip a beat. He wasn’t looking forward to that particular meeting. “Especially when we know you aren’t as powerful as you were before.” 

“We’re not?” Stiles chuckled. “What would you know about it, you pack slut? Don’t you have enough trouble keeping straight where your loyalties lie? First your father, then Derek, then Scott, then Allison, then Derek again. You change allegiances more frequently than Greenberg changes underwear.” 

There was a growl of outrage over the phone, distantly, and it wasn’t Jackson’s or Isaac’s. It might be Cora’s – he hadn’t heard her growl often – but he couldn’t be sure. 

“There you are, Malia. So that’s the plan? Jackson and Cora are the hounds, while Malia and Isaac seal the entrances?” Stiles clucked his tongue. Scott didn’t know who Malia was, but he walked backwards from the edge of the garage. “You think you’ve got us trapped?” 

“You’re only ‘trapped’ because you wanted to know how many of us were here, which these children were easily manipulated into telling you.” Peter’s disdainful voice rang out. 

“Oh, we thought we smelled something dead.” Stiles announced. “Are you actually here to do something, Peter, or are you going to gloat while other people do the work?” 

“Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, whatever would I have to gloat about?” Peter said smugly over the phone. “No one here is glad that you foolishly tried to return to Beacon Hills. Wouldn’t you have preferred to stay free?”

“Where’s the fun in that? There’s debts to be paid, Peter. Your pack’s bill is pretty steep.” 

Scott finally saw Stiles through the huge pane of glass. He was still on the fifth floor, moving from pillar to pillar, holding the phone so Scott could pick up the sounds coming from the rest of the building. Scott crouched into a ready stance.

“I don’t remember being in debt to you, Stiles. You made your own choices.” At the very edge of his visual acuity, Scott could see Peter come up the broken escalator to that same floor, backed up by Jackson and Cora.

“And, yet, somehow, your family is the one who benefited by them. It wasn’t that many years ago that the Hales were a ghost of a memory – a scattered and near-destroyed family. But today, the family is reunited – five healthy wolves. Your family reclaimed its territory and driven out the Argents. You might have a little more baggage, but the Hales are, without a doubt, back. All it took was three stupid kids doing a stupid ritual to save their parents.”

Peter stopped in his tracks and burst out laughing. Cora and Jackson spread out to flank him, but Cora shot a glance at Peter. “You think I planned that? I’m good, but I’m not **that** good. When exactly did I have the opportunity to arrange all that?” 

“We don’t need to know how. All we need to know is that the Hales benefited, while we suffered.” Stiles stepped out from behind the pillar so they could see him. The wolves stopped at the sight of him; Isaac and another woman – she must have been Malia – were still on the stairs. 

Peter cocked his head to the side. “Only a fool argues with a madman. Why don’t you play your little trick and then we can finish this tedious business.” He motioned the other members of the pack into action.

Stiles stepped out from behind the pillar. “Okay. Here it comes.” He tossed his phone away and pointed his pistol at Peter. 

Scott rushed forward, gaining as much momentum as he could before he leapt from the parking garage. The distance wasn’t as far as the cliffs he had been leaping since his sophomore year. Now, though, he was faster, stronger, and tougher; tough enough to smash through the mall’s huge window, throwing a cascade of glass shards throughout the room and landing about four feet to Stiles’ right. The Hale pack reflexively covered their eyes so the splinters from the window didn’t blind them. 

If Kali could make spectacular entrances, so could Scott. Landing in a three point stance, he let out a roar that shook every fixture remaining in the mall. He wasn’t alpha to any wolf here, so it didn’t have the effect of a command, but it was damn intimidating. 

Peter, as always, was the first to recover. His face transformed and he snarled. “Good trick. Stiles, I …”

Before he could finish, Scott was on top of him. He didn’t hold back. Wicked back claws sunk into Peter’s chest and Scott lifted him over his head. “Shut up. Always fucking talking.” There could have been more efficient ways to fight Peter, but Scott’s goal was **not** to fight. 

Following him up, Stiles moved with cold efficiency to pull the trigger twice, the gunshots echoing in his ears. Strangely enough, his target was the girl that Scott didn’t know. One shot in the chest and one shot in the leg; if she was a wolf, they wouldn’t be fatal. Then he turned to sprint away as a recovering Cora went after him. Stiles was faster and stronger than a human now, but he wasn’t a match for a werewolf in hand-to-hand.

Peter struggled to get off of Scott’s claws, but he need not have done so. Scott hoisted him up and threw Peter down the staircase the pack had used to get up to this floor. Peter rolled down it, tumbling to a stop. It probably wouldn’t kill him. Probably. 

Scott’s and Stiles’ improvised tactics had paid off, at least in the start. Peter was down on the fourth floor, Malia was nursing her wounds, and Isaac was tending to her rather than joining the fight. That left two on two, but Scott recognized that he had left himself open. Jackson’s claws raked along his back. 

Jackson had always been athletically gifted; when they had both been human, he had blown Scott away with the skill in body control he had demonstrated. This proficiency had served him well when he had transformed, both as a kanima and as a werewolf. He was probably the best fighter in the pack outside of Peter, who had the edge because of decades of experience.

He was still no match for Scott. Scott was an alpha; his strength and speed were greater than any betas, even with a pack of one. Also, he could assume that Jackson had spent the last three years being primarily a student. He probably had taken college courses. He was also very rich, so maybe he had spent time pursuing hobbies like the cars of which he was so proud. Or maybe he could have spent his free time at the beach or in a cabin in the mountains. Maybe he could have been normal for a while, even if he was a werewolf. Scott had spent the last three years being taught to fight by Kali and getting tortured by Deucalion and only that.

Maybe Scott punched him a little harder than he needed to. 

Leaving Jackson on the floor, barely conscious but quickly healing, he turned to see where Stiles was. He was dancing around the pillars, frustrating Cora to no end with a game of tag. He wasn’t shooting, though he had the gun ready. 

“Stop!” He shouted, as commanding as he could manage. “We keep this up and I’m going to have to hurt someone …” He glanced at Malia, who seemed to be doing okay. “Hurt someone worse. I don’t want to do that.”

“Scott,” Isaac spoke up for the first time. They couldn’t look each other in the eye. “You don’t know what he did when he was free last time.” 

The others had stopped, and Scott could tell that Peter was working his way up the stairs, healing slowly. “No. I don’t. I’ve heard a little bit, but I don’t really know. But I know what you did, Jackson.” 

Jackson pushed himself up against a retaining wall so he was standing again. He knew exactly what Scott was talking about. 

“I watched you come to kill Lydia, Isaac. I saw you, Cora, insane with moon rage. We all know what you did, Peter.” Scott scowled at him but then turned to Malia. “I don’t know you; I’m sorry.”

Malia looked up at him as she tried to dig a bullet out of her leg and shrugged. 

“I know what I’ve done. I also know I’m not doing it anymore. I also know that he’s not killed anyone since he escaped from Echo House.” Scott was exaggerating slightly. All he had was Stiles’ word on that, and something told him that it wasn’t as solid a currency as it had been before. “He’s in my pack. He’s my responsibility.” 

“So you’re claiming that you can manage a void kitsune and its appetites,” sneered the healing Peter. 

“Yes.” Scott answered and he locked eyes with Peter. He wasn’t the same boy anymore. “Stiles is my friend. He freed me when no one else did. Now, I have a meeting with your alpha at sundown. Any one of you tries to get at him before that meeting, I’ll break both your legs. I don’t want to do that, but I will.” 

Stiles chuckled. He went to pick up his phone from where he had dropped it. 

Peter calculated. It is, after all, one of the things he was very good at it. “Come, children. I, for one, am going to love to see how this works out.” He reached down and picked up Malia. Scott was startled; the tenderness that Peter showed her was unlike anything he had ever seen the older wolf do before. 

The other three betas were there. Fighting had been easier than the silence; it always was. 

Scott put his hands behind his back. He didn’t want to tell him about his claws, not yet. “Well ...” 

“What Scott so eloquently meant to say there,” Stiles interrupted, “was that he never imagined this is how he would meet you again.” Slowly, Stiles holstered the pistol. “I was pretty sure that this was exactly how it was going to go.” 

Cora wasn’t badly hurt in the fight, and she was a born wolf. Scott and Stiles were a threat to her pack. It was that simple, but it was also that simple for her to control those feelings. “It’s easy to predict when you act like that big of an asshole, Stilinski.”

Scott heard the undercurrent in the words passing between them. Stiles had always used sarcasm to deflect emotions he couldn’t handle; he still used it even though there was no emotion he couldn’t handle. Cora was the perpetual outsider. She was used to not caring one way or the other until she did. 

Jackson stood up, eyeing him and Stiles not with distaste, but with fearful unease. He was afraid of them, but Scott perceive that it wasn’t a cowardly fear. It was the fear of what they could do if they weren’t themselves. Jackson would never be afraid of Scott McCall or Stiles Stilinski, but he didn’t know who the two people before him were. 

Scott couldn’t reassure him. He didn’t know either. He cleared his throat. “Isaac.” 

Isaac shook his head, his face unreadable. He turned and walked down the staircase, with Jackson and Cora following him. Scott tried not to smell the emotions coming off the group. 

“It must hurt a lot, doesn’t it?” Stiles had come up behind him. 

“What?” He turned away, but Scott wasn’t sure where he was turning to. 

“You’re not who he wanted you to be.” Stiles had a hollow smile on his face. “It must hurt to only figure out what you want when you realize you can’t have it any more.” 

Scott was grateful that Stiles was in his life again, and he wouldn’t change that, but that doesn’t mean he had to put up with the creepy needling. “And what do you want?”

“You know what we want,” Stiles laughed out loud. “Chaos, strife, and pain.” 

Scott picked up a shard of glass. “Well, you’ll get your chance tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sente" means initiative or advantage in the game of Go.


	8. Revelation

THE HALE PRESERVE

Scott and Stiles prowled through the Preserve, weaving between fallen logs like soldiers on their way to a battle. The trees, shedding their leaves in the autumn air, rustled overhead in the light breeze, and the sun sank towards the horizon between their branches. It could have been any other fall day. They walked in quiet together, because both of them knew the way to that part of the forest. And even if they didn’t, they could feel that thing tugging on them with its invisible chains.

Stiles was the first one to break the silence. “We can’t actually detect chemo signals, but we **can** tell when something is wrong … especially with you. What’s wrong?”

Scott tried to shrug the inquiry off but there was something about Stiles’ face that convinced him to speak. It was the face that the old Stiles had always used when he didn’t feel like playing twenty questions. “They were a pack.”

“Well, Scotty, you have to understand that is something that werewolves like to do.” Sarcasm was still Stiles’ favorite way to indicate that he didn’t comprehend Scott.

“Yeah, I know. That’s the point. Confronting us … confronting us had to be difficult for them, but even as it was awkward and maybe even painful, you could tell they were a pack. They trusted each other without thinking about it; they even trusted Peter without thinking about it. They didn’t need to stop and wonder what the others were thinking. I hadn’t remembered what that felt like.” Scott had subconsciously felt the bonds between them, even people who would have had every reason to hate each other, like Peter and Jackson or Isaac and Jackson. 

“Of course you wouldn’t, but the fact that Duke-Duke has like a million screws loose is not news.” Stiles pointed out. “Did you **ever** feel that? It’s not like you were eager to join a pack back when we were in high school.”

“I felt it. I felt it with you and Isaac and Allison. For a little while, I did.” He frowned. “It wasn’t that I objected to being in a pack …”

“It was that you objected to the person leading it. Not a surprise. We remember Uncle Peter’s Crazy Murder Train and Derek’s House of Bad Decisions. And you should remember that we were totally in your corner.”

“I don’t know if I could … ” Scott trailed off while he started walking a little faster. “Things have changed.”

“Of course they’ve changed,” Stiles hissed. “They’ve had three years to grow and learn. And who do you think bought them those three years?” Scott turned to see a look of fury on Stiles’ face. It slipped out sometimes when Stiles least wanted it to, and Scott was learning how to look for it. He also had identified its source.

The rage didn’t come from the fox; it was all original Stiles Stilinski.

They kept began to slow their pace; it would not be far now before they reached their destination. Scott wondered who exactly would be there. If the whole pack was there, then he and Stiles could be in serious trouble. They’d demonstrated their prowess against the pack’s betas, but with Derek and Jennifer present, they’d would be sore pressed in a fight. He told Stiles as much, and Stiles nodded grimly. 

“If all of them are there, we’re going to retreat,” Scott decided. “I’m not risking your life for some gesture of etiquette. Derek refused a truce, so there’s nothing to stop them from ambushing us but also nothing to stop us from skipping this meeting entirely.” 

“Scott …” Stiles said quietly. “That’s very kind of you, but it also implies that you would have risked your life just to talk to Derek if you were alone.”

Scott didn’t answer. 

“Well, don’t. He’s not worth it. If either of us sense a trap, we’ll vanish. We don’t need his cooperation.” Stiles spoke urgently. 

Their conversation faded away because they could now feel that damned stump as a tangible presence, roots of power and meaning working their way into their cores like weeds cracking concrete. Now, they could go forward even in the middle of the night with their eyes closed. They were still shocked when they walked past a tree and discovered the Nemeton. It was surrounded by the dead growth of the past summer and a cascade of leaves piling at its roots. 

Derek Hale stood between them and the remains of the great tree. He looked the same as he did the last time Scott had seen him, only not unconscious on the floor of an elevator. But he smelled different; he smelled powerful, and he smelled confident and content. 

Jennifer Hale leaned on the Nemeton itself, relaxed and casual, as if she was leaning up against her desk at the school. She hummed with power as well; she must still be synchronized with the telluric currents. She would be at her most powerful here. She certainly did not feel the need to conceal her hostility more effectively.

Derek watched them emerge, face blank, but eyes keen and searching. He was looking for something. Finally, he said, after a dramatic pause. “This is private property.”

Scott burst out laughing. He had been trying for soberness in order to get across to Derek and Jennifer that he was someone they should take seriously, but Derek’s opening words short-circuited all his plans. The laugh rolled out of him in a wave of staccato punches, until he shook his head and stopped. Once he recovered, there was a ghost of a smile on his face.

Stiles’ jaw had dropped. “That. Was. Awesome. No, seriously. Not only was it funny, but it also reminded us of our past together at the same time it reminded us that this is indeed your territory. It set the terms of the engagement while also setting the terms. Scotty, we’ve got a shark here.”

Derek eloquently spread his hands to show blunt fingers. “This isn’t an engagement. It’s a meeting.”

“Except, of course, you sent your pack to capture us,” Stiles replied. He hadn’t drawn his gun, but he was in a secure position behind Scott. 

Scott didn’t say anything but instead crossed his arms. It was true that Derek had rejected his offer of a truce, though it didn’t seem that the Hale alpha was gearing up for a fight. Scott didn’t quite understand why, if Derek didn’t want to fight, he hadn’t accepted the truce. Even so, he wasn’t going to try to initiate the violence, as he had suggested the truce. While keeping on ear open to Derek’s words, he used his other senses to make sure the rest of the pack wasn’t nearby.

“I did,” Derek admitted. “I sent it for you, Stiles. You’re dangerous, and you need help.” 

“There’s no help for us.” Stiles indicated Jennifer with his chin. “She could have told you that. And, besides, we don’t need anyone’s help. We’re doing **just fine.** We’re well fed, we’re rested, and we were the ones who freed Scott from the alpha pack. That’s more than anyone else had ever done.”

Scott heard the sadness in Derek’s voice. It was sincere, but it wasn’t despair. He had learned what Derek sounded like when he was in despair a long time ago. “Was it worth the cost, Stiles?”

“Is Deucalion dead, then?” Jennifer asked with more mercenary intent. Derek was talking to them as friends; her voice was the one you used for possible enemies. 

Stiles smirked immediately at Jennifer. “That’s for us to know and you to find out.” His hatred for her was almost as palpable.

“Whatever it cost Stiles or not,” Scott interrupted, before things could get going. “It’s no longer your concern, Alpha Hale. He’s my pack, and thus, he’s my responsibility.” 

“I heard that from Dr. Deaton, Scott,” Derek answered, “and I’ll tell you what I told him. You can’t have a pack with a single wolf and a demon fox, any more than you could have a pack with an omega and two humans. When I said that before, I was being kind. You had the potential to be an alpha then, but even alphas need a real pack.” Derek now compared to Derek before was different as the night and the day. He didn’t sound like he couldn’t believe he was surrounded by ignorant teenagers; he didn’t speak down to them. He was grounded; he was whole. He had gotten better.

Scott winced inwardly, because he knew he hadn’t. “We’ll have to agree to disagree.” He tried to match Derek’s tone. “I’m here to negotiate for the right of my pack to remain in your territory. I promise I’m not here to take anything from you.” 

Derek glanced back over his shoulder at Jennifer; she nodded in return. Scott knew that the gesture would spike Stiles’ aggression; he could smell it even now. He glanced behind him, and Stiles was perfectly still. His eyes glittered like frozen gold. He was plotting something. 

Derek took a deep breath. It was steadying, and Scott watched the set of his jaw and the square of his shoulders. “I’m afraid that I’m going to have to refuse.”

Scott blinked. He had expected Derek to be wary. He had expected him to have demands. He had expected him to be patronizing. He hadn’t expected an outright denial. Stiles chuckled meanly behind him.

Scott bit his lip. The truth be told, he didn’t know why he was asking for permission. Stiles’ plan was for them to spend time with their families before Deucalion and the Argents arrived. Scott was aware that Stiles didn’t know that he knew about the plan, but that didn’t matter. He had just wanted Derek to give them a few days of peace before the storm. He didn’t much care what happened later. Maybe he should have.

“May I ask why?” This is was what Stiles and Derek would expect him to ask, and so he did it.

“You’re a danger to my pack,” Derek replied. “You’re an alpha without a pack of your own. You’ll feel the urge to make one. Even when you were an omega and fought with every fiber of your being to resist joining Peter’s or my pack, you couldn’t stop yourself from forming a pseudo-pack out of your friends.”

It was true. Scott may not have understood what he was doing before, but he couldn’t argue it now. 

“You’re also an unstable alpha.” Derek continued. “Show me your hands and retract your claws.”

Scott clenched his fists instead. Of course, Deaton had noticed and told Derek. “I’ve been through a lot,” he gritted between his teeth. “That doesn’t make me unstable.” 

“You can’t go out in public. You can’t hold a job. You can’t finish school. What exactly do you plan to do here, should I let you stay?” Derek obviously meant the question to be rhetorical. “What’s Stiles going to do? He’s a fugitive.” 

“Stiles is going to be just fine,” Stiles grated. “You’re the alpha, not a police officer or a career counselor. Scott’s asking you for permission to be here; he’s not asking you for help.”

Derek closed his eyes for a moment. This wasn’t something he was doing extemporaneously; this had been hashed out. “There was a time when you did ask me for help, Scott. But even if you did now, Deucalion is alive. The Alpha Pack still exists. Look me in the eyes and tell me he isn’t going to come for you.” Scott couldn’t do that. He knew that Deucalion had promised to come for him, and he knew what Stiles plan to deal with him was. “The last time Deucalion and his pack came here, I lost two betas. How many will I lose this time?”

Scott grimaced. He couldn’t help it. He remembered Erica’s body; he remembered the water on the floor of the loft. He remembered the days of fear and terror. 

“You made your choice, Scott.” Derek said gently. 

“You fucking fuck!” Stiles was nearly foaming at the mouth. “Don’t you try to fucking blame Scott for Erica and Boyd! They died because you decided to recruit child soldiers for your war against the Argents, because you needed to be strong to stand against the Alpha Pack. You were a fucking multi-millionaire, Derek, you could have packed your god-damned muscle car and driven back to New York or Talladega or Timbuktu! You stayed here, you asshole, because you wanted to work out your personal problems on the backs of children.” He turned his rage on Jennifer. “And what about you, Bloody Mary, don’t you want Deucalion and Kali back so you can get your revenge?”

“I’ve grown as a person,” Jennifer sneered. “Sometimes the best revenge is living well.”

Scott moved like a blur because Stiles had made to draw his gun and put a bullet right in Jennifer’s head. Even with his speed, the gun was half-way out when he grabbed Stiles wrist. Their eyes locked and Stiles’ eyes blazed fiery silver. It was wordless; Scott hoped that Stiles would understand. Slowly, Stiles put the gun back and lifted his hand to show he wasn’t going to fire. 

Scott still had his eyes locked on Stiles’, but he could talk to Derek. “So, that’s it? I can’t even come home. You’re going to take that from me?” 

“This isn’t about justice,” Derek said evenly. Scott wondered at his tone and timbre; was this what it would have been like to talk to Talia Hale? “I know what Peter did to you. I know what I did to you. I know what Jennifer did to you. I can only imagine what the last years have been like for both of you, and I know why you did what you did. But that can’t matter in this decision. It isn’t fair that you can’t stay, but you can’t.” 

“But she …” Stiles began but Derek interrupted him.

“She makes the pack stronger, Stiles. You won’t. You’re a creature of chaos and pain, and Scott has been twisted by Deucalion.”

Scott growled and turned to face Derek; it was one thing to think you were twisted but another thing to hear it from someone else’s lips. “Since I’m so twisted, why do you think I won’t tear this city apart? Feed my best friend until he can’t eat any more. Drown this city in blood and fire?” 

“Because you’re like I was.” Jennifer surprised them all by answering him.

Scott struggled with the urge not to shout obscenities at the woman. This woman had drenched her hands in innocent blood, and she tried to compare herself to him.

“It doesn’t matter if you woke up in the hospital like me or your best friend rescued you from enslavement, one day it occurred to you that you had survived. You had survived, when you didn’t think you would be able to.” Jennifer slid off the Nemeton’s trunk. She walked toward him, but she did not get closer than Derek. “But when you realized that, you realized that survival hadn’t been enough. You looked at yourself and you couldn’t even recognized who you were anymore. You’re a shape without substance; you’re a puzzle without all the pieces. I found a way to put myself back together. You haven’t found a way to do that yet.” 

Jennifer continued, and her voice reached into his ears. “I looked for Julia Baccari, but she was almost entirely gone. The only thing that was left was the disbelief that Kali would do that to her. So I latched on to that, and I lived in that, and I filled the holes in me with rage. Then, after everything I had done, I was standing right here with the blood of twelve innocent people on my hands, looking like a complete idiot. Because, ultimately, I wasn’t important to Kali or Deucalion. I was an obstacle they had avoided. I was empty again, as if ten years hadn’t happened. This time, though, I found something better to fill the holes with.”

Then Jennifer looked at Derek with such pure and utter devotion that Scott could hear Stiles mock-retching in the background. “What’s left of you, Scott? It’s not rage, or you wouldn’t have come here to talk, not until you had the upper hand. What’s left for you to fill the holes in your soul? I think you came back to fill those holes with what you lost. But you’re not that person anymore. What’s here doesn’t fit you.”

Derek looked over at Jennifer, and Scott saw in his eyes – maybe it wasn’t love – but it was contentment and a fierce protectiveness. It puzzled him until he focused on the way they stood near each other. He opened his hearing and confirmed it. 

Scott frowned, knowing he had lost. “You’re pregnant.” 

“I can do more than just kill,” said Jennifer. “I’m building the future.” 

It all made sense then. He turned without another word and taking Stiles by the wrist pulled him away. He couldn’t win, because Derek had too many allies. He had a full pack. He had a powerful darach. He had the future. He had the truth. 

“All right,” Scott said. “We’ll be gone before dawn.” 

The only thing that Scott and Stiles could do in Beacon Hill is ruin other people’s lives. Part of him wished he could get generate enough emotion to cry, but every thought vanished into nothingness. All he could do was walk. Walk away from the stump, and the alpha, and the witch. Walk away from the hope that what was broken could be fixed. Jennifer was right; he couldn’t fill the holes in himself with the past. He wasn’t sure he could fill them with anything.

He kept his ears sharp to see if they were being followed. When Scott was sure that they were far enough away, he let go of Stiles’ wrist. He kept walking, but he rubbed at his face. His dry eyes ached.

“That was a good bluff there, Scotty.” Stiles followed after him through the forest. “It’s a simple trick; we like it. Convince them we are going to leave, and when they let their guard down, bang! Preferably with a real bang. We think we know where we can get some stuff to make a few bombs. It’s going to be spectacular.”

“It wasn’t a trick, Stiles. We’re leaving.” Scott’s feet kicked up leaves as he walked. He listened for the sound of Stiles stopping, and he was not disappointed.

“We’re not sure what you are saying, alpha.” There was a dual sneer behind it. “That’s not the deal. We don’t leave until all debts are paid.”

Scott stopped. He located exactly where Stiles was standing in relation to him. “You weren’t paying attention, were you?” He heard the sound of a gun being drawn. 

He moved as fast as he could, so it was a blur even to him. With one hand, he grabbed Stiles by his shirt front without seeing to look where he was, and threw him up against a tree, hard. Stiles got off a single shot and it filled his gut with pain. He’d been shot there before. 

Scott closed the distance between them before Stiles could fire again. With one hand he struggled with the gun, while with the other hand he tried to bring the nogitsune under control. While he was stronger, tougher, and faster than Stiles, Stiles was filled with incandescent rage and had no qualms about hurting him. 

Two more shots went off near his head, leaving his ears ringing. But finally, with bruising strength, he had Stiles pinned up against the tree, his claws pricking the side of Stiles’ throat.

“You weren’t paying attention,” Scott whispered into his ear.

“The hell we weren’t.” Stiles breath was in heaving gasps. “We watched Jennifer standing there, looking healthy and smug, lecturing us on what we gave up. Lecturing us on what it means to be twisted. She’s a murderer! She’s a serial killer! She murdered twelve people, some of whom we knew. And she’s gotten away with it!”

“I know,” Scott said patiently. He could feel the wound begin to close around the bullet. That was going to be a bitch to dig out. Blood was soaking his and Stiles clothes where they were pressed together.

“The worst part is that what she and Derek are both right. Look at yourself, Scott. Look at yourself, closely. You’re a wreck; by yourself, you could send a dozen psychologists’ kids to college!” 

“I know,” Scott said. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter! Whose fault is it? If she hadn’t kidnapped our parents, you’d be at school right now, learning how to treat heartworms in puppies. Derek is a treacherous asshole, but he’s right – you’re unstable and twisted. You’ve got nothing! What’s left for you in this world?” Stiles continued his tirade, growing angrier and angrier. “Oshietekudasai! Anata wa nanimonodesu ka?” 

“I’m a monster.” It had nothing to do with being a werewolf; it was everything else. It was the fact that even now he wanted someone to hurt him. It was the fact that he couldn’t even be in public without the threat of people seeing his degeneration. It was the fact that he wasn’t horrified that his friend was no longer just his friend, and that he was actually becoming friends with a 1000-year-old demon just so he wouldn’t be alone.

“You’re damn right!” Stiles’ voice went softer. “You haven’t seen Allison yet. You haven’t seen what the darkness did to her. It’s like freaking opposite day, except forever.”

“I saw her,” he replied. “I followed you that night.”

“Well, shit. You’ve gotten sneakier.” It did not seem to mollify him. “Now, look at **me.** Stiles could have been anything in the world. You know that. Now, we’re together until the end. We aren’t going to lie, we took him. Part of the blame was ours, but he was a target of opportunity. We took what we were offered.”

“Stiles, you aren’t telling me something I don’t know. But I told you, you aren’t paying attention.” He put a hand on the fox’s shoulder. “You were just looking at Jennifer. You weren’t looking at Derek. You weren’t looking at Isaac or your dad or my mom. You told me that your dad told you – how many animal attack murders have there been in the last three years?”

“None.” Stiles spit it out as if it tasted bad. “What are you saying that means?”

“Look at Derek. He looked … happy. Not happy at this situation, but he looked serious and in control and ready to do what had to be done. He looked like the person he always wanted to be. Sure, he had to marry Jennifer, but that’s what a real leader does -- what is necessary to protect the people that follow them.”

“Is that what you’re doing, Scott? Doing what is necessary? You want us to leave so they can be safe? People we don’t even know; people who have never given us the time of day. We leave so Beacon Hills can be safe?”

“I know what you’re planning, Stiles. You’re going to bring everyone here and let them destroy each other so my friend can have his revenge and the demon fox can feed. We’re not going to do that.”

“Why not? Why do they get everything and we get nothing? What did you ever do to deserve becoming … this? You wanted to be first line – truly a mortal sin.” Stiles scrabbled his free hand against the bark in his fury; Scott managed to keep him pinned with calm determination. “What did Allison ever do to become Hunter Goddess Argent? She loved her family. What did we do to have to speak in plural pronouns like a mental deficient for the next thousand years? What did we do to deserve this, while everyone else gets to live happily ever after? It offends us.” Stiles dropped the now-useless gun into the leaves at the foot of the tree. Shadows pooled around them; tails lashed as Stiles’ aura manifested. “It offends us, because it’s not fair, and you know it’s not fair.”

“I can’t let you do that.” Scott whispered to him. 

“How,” the kitsune hissed, “are you going to stop us?” 

Scott let the tips of his claws sink into Stiles throat so much that the blood ran freely. “I’ll kill you. Right here. Right now. Then I’ll probably kill myself.” He crushed Stiles up against that tree enough to feel his ribs creak. “It would be like we never got out of the woods that night, so long ago. As if Peter just killed us. They’ll find our bodies, and everyone would be sad, but they’d move on, and it would all be over.” He whispered it into Stiles ear, like when they were spending the night over at each other’s houses, and they had to be quiet because his mom or Stiles’ dad wanted them to go to sleep. 

Stiles was still beneath him. Scott could feel something tickling at the edge of his awareness, and he realized that the nogitsune was studying him with its senses. “You would,” they hissed. “You’d kill us both to save this wretched town. Why are they more important than us? What did we do to deserve that?” 

“What did we do? We drowned ourselves.” Scott used his free hand to grab Stiles’ shoulder and squeeze. He had to make them understand. **“That’s why they call it a sacrifice.”**

Stiles’ face twisted as he warred within himself. There was nothing to do but hold on and let them come to a decision. After a bit, one side obviously won. Stiles sighed and then with mock fatigue, he complained. “Well, **fine.** We get to kill Deucalion at least, right?”

“No,” answered Scott. He released Stiles, bent down, picked up the gun, and handed it back to him. It was a gesture of trust. “We hurt him, as badly as we can. Then we watch Kali kill him.”

Stiles contemplated the pistol. Scott knew that at this distance, there was a danger that Stiles could put a bullet in his head before he could stop him. “That’s a little dark for you, alpha.” Stiles teased him. “We like it, but we can’t help but asking why?”

“I can’t cure Deucalion. I don’t know who could. I do know that he’s just going to keep ruining people’s lives trying to create something that can never exist.” Scott shook his head. “And Kali has dibs.”

“What about the person who couldn’t stand anyone dying, who thought everyone could be saved?” Stiles observed, aiming to hurt. “What’s changed?”

“It’s something that Jennifer said. It’s about pieces of ourselves. I used to think that the only part that Deucalion hadn’t taken was the piece of me that hadn’t killed. But then I killed Partridge, and while I suffer for that, it didn’t change me completely. The last piece is still there. It’s stubborn.” 

“No shit.” Stiles studied Scott’s abdomen. “Lay down, and keep talking. I’ll try to dig that bullet out.” 

Scott did as he was told. He closed his eyes and breathed in the air of the woods. He knew he was vulnerable, but if he wanted anyone to kill him, Stiles would be the best choice. “No one tells me who I am.” 

“No one?” Stiles dug his fingers into the wound to keep it from closing up completely. Agony shot through his body, but it was okay. There would be enough time for that later. 

“Not even you, Stiles. You love me, in your way, and I love you. I want to be with you, even though I know what you are.” He said it as a promise. “But you can trust me in this; I’ll be with you for as long as I can.”

“You’ll see us do terrible things.” Stiles kept the pressure up. “Things that will make what we had planned for Beacon Hills look kind.” 

“I know. But only I decide who I am, and I’m saying I’m your friend.” He grunted with the pain from Stiles’ searching fingers. “I’m saying, I’m your alpha, if you want me to be.”

Scott opened his eyes as Stiles was examining the bullet. “Do you have any idea what to do now, though?” 

Scott nodded. “I’ve got an idea. I’ve got someone to be.”

###### 

OKEFENOKEE NATIONAL WILDLIFE PRESERVE – TWO YEARS LATER

Natirah Pemberly waited exactly where he had asked her to wait. It was a service road near the compounds rear entrance, but it was far enough away that she would sense any approach. It was nearly two a.m. but she was alert. It wasn’t hard to tell why; she was scared. The only thing she knew about this night was that Scott had told her to be here. 

She was a broad, firm, strong woman who might be nearing middle age, though she could be far older. She looked kind of like Oprah Winfrey, Scott thought, only she was less polished. The roughness, of course, came with the territory. 

“Alpha Pemberly. Thank you for meeting me here.” Scott stepped from the underbrush with a heavy tread. He didn’t want to scare her any more than she already was. 

“I didn’t have much choice, did I?” She asked with a sort of grim certainty. 

“No. I’m not sure if you can understand why you had to come, but it’s important. They’re waiting for us.” He held out his hand. Natirah looked at it with a mixture of disdain and fear; it was pretty much covered in blood. He wasn’t a pretentious snob who carried around handkerchiefs so he could wipe them off after violence. He didn’t blink at her reluctance; he simply turned his arm so she can take his elbow.

“Did you win?” Natirah asked as they headed into the underbrush. Her voice was steady.

“Yes. They weren’t a match for us.” Scott added as he led her towards their destination. At this distance, it was a bobbing orange light on the horizon.

The woman growled and then sighed. “I didn’t have confidence that my pack …”

“Oh! Oh, no!” Scott stopped and looked at her. “You mustn’t think that I’m saying you should have. There’s a reason this happens. There’s a reason we can do this. You must never think that you should have taken care of this yourself. My pack is violent. We live violently. Your pack is a family.” 

“We’re werewolves. We should be able to protect ourselves.” She said bitterly. “We shouldn’t have to …”

Scott raised both eyebrows. “Call me? Don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s not a failing to not know how to fight. It’s not wrong to not know how to win a war. You’re predators. You don’t have to be killers.” He offered her his arm again. She took it gingerly.

“Like you?” Natirah accused. Scott knew why she accused him. It was guilt. Guilt at resorting to something like this instead of protecting her pack. It came with the title of alpha.

“I didn’t used to be. But I can’t avoid it like I used to.” Scott shared. He didn’t mind talking to the people he worked with, be they human or werewolf, as long as they did what they needed to do. 

They walked through the underbrush, the waning crescent of the moon dodging between the branches, playing tag with the stars. The swamp was alive with the thrum of insects, but there were other smells, unnatural smells, drifting over it. Blood, gasoline, and various forms of smoke stung his nostrils. He wasn’t surprised; Stiles in action tended to be showy.

“I didn’t want to call you,” Natirah said suddenly. “When it happened, I had trouble keeping control. I wanted to hunt them down and rip them apart, one by one. I wanted to howl and roar and, but I couldn’t. Because … because it was what they wanted.” 

“Right.” Scott answered. He’d seen this type of provocation before. “If you had come at them, enraged and feral, they would have had every excuse they needed to kill your entire family. It’s an old tactic.”

“But I had to do something … “ Natirah explained. She sounded weary of explaining, though this was the first time she had told him. Maybe she was tired of explaining it to herself. “I needed, down deep inside, to make them suffer, but the price of revenge was war. I couldn’t do that to my pack.”

Scott kept walking but he had to fight off the urge to turn and hug her. She wouldn’t want it, and he no longer had the right or the words to show how much he appreciated that she couldn’t bring herself to seek revenge. Revenge threw shadows across the world. 

“Why do you do this?”

Scott sighed as he kept walking. “Many reasons. The most important reason is that I have a friend who needs this. He’s my best friend, who is always there for me, and I am always there for him. That may sound like a lot for one person, but it’s easier than you might think. Because I have nowhere else to go.”

They came to the burning remains of the camp. The hunters – Scott laughed at that; if they were hunters, he was a poodle – the men had built what they thought was to be a secure base. It was stupid. It had only two entrances, everything else was blocked off by bogs. But the entrances weren’t properly lighted; any werewolf trained in infiltration could get to their buildings without a problem. Which was exactly what had happened.

Aiden was standing at the door, washing his hands off in the rain barrel. 

“Everything secure?” Scott asked, raising his voice to get the other alpha’s attention. 

Aiden turned and nodded. He took a moment to take in Natirah. Deeming her not a threat, he turned back to Scott. 

“What does Desta say?” She was under guard far away from here. She saw enough without Scott exposing her to the work they did. 

“It’s clear.” Aiden shrugged. “I drew perimeter.” 

Natirah was staring at the destroyed camp. “Why do I have to be here?”

“It’s the rule,” Scott replied. It was a tough rule, but he enforced it. It needed to be enforced. “The person who calls us has to see the end. You start it; you finish it. That means there are no lies.” 

They entered the building. Along one wall was the half-dozen would-be hunters who had managed to survive the direct assault. They were beat and bruised and alive. Weaponless, they were guarded by Ethan and the two other alphas that had replaced Nicolas and Jorge. 

Kali was standing over by Stiles who was having a blast going through the computer system and finding anything useful. “They have a Swiss bank account, Scotty. It’s like a cheap knock-off of a Bond flick. We’re keeping it though. It could be useful.”

Scott let Natirah release his arm and directed her to a secure place. “Are you okay? Still hungry?” 

Stiles shook his head. “Oh, no! In fact, we’ve eaten so well, we might have to go on a diet soon. We’ll get fat, and a slow fox is a dead fox.” He chuckled meanly. “We’ll be finished with this in a minute. Get started without us.”

Scott turned his attention to the center of the room. The leader of these so-called hunters was tied and gagged to a chair in the middle of the room. Scott had wanted to get this guy himself, but Kali beat him to it. He didn’t begrudge her; he was the only one of the hunters who put up anything remotely resembling a good fight. She had stayed because he promised her good fights and because he had promised her that she could leave any time she liked. 

“You know,” Scott said to the guy as he approached the man. “I’ve met people like you before. I’m sure you have your reasons for starting this. I’m sure you’ve got a pretty good monologue where you explain in intricate detail why you are doing this.” 

“How do I know that? Because I’ve got a pretty good monologue as well, now that I’m one of you.” He turned to Natirah. “I need you to remember this. Remember that I am. Just. Like. Him.” He reached out and took the gag off the man.

“We’re nothing alike, you filthy animal.” The man spat.

“As I said, I’ve met people like you and me before. We always have reasons for what we do. Elaborate explanations of why we indulge in the darkness that surrounds us. My story you wouldn’t believe, so I’m not going to tell you. Let’s just say that it takes some effort to keep a fox fed.”

Stiles barked a laugh from over at the computer station. It was for him, Scott knew. It was Stiles’ way of saying thank you. 

Scott bent down so his face was close to the face of the man he had tied up. The man spat in it. “I want you to understand that this isn’t justice, what’s going to happen here. This doesn’t even begin to resemble justice. And it’s not revenge. I’m not doing this for Natirah’s daughter.” He wiped the spittle off of his face. 

“I never met Natirah’s daughter. I don’t even know her name.” Scott spoke evenly. “I only know that you lured a fourteen-year-old girl out somewhere so you could snatch her, rape her, kill her, and leave her body on her mother’s property just so you could lure her pack into an ambush.” 

“You can’t rape an animal!” The man shouted in defiance.

Stiles perked up at the computer. “That made absolutely no sense. Oh, don’t mind us. Pedantic.”

“I don’t know why you chose to do this,” Scott continued. “I don’t know if these men helped or they were revolted by what you did or if they don’t even know it happened like it did. I just know that you’re the leader, and the responsibility of it rests with you. I know that you led these men into the darkness, and the darkness is where I live.” 

Scott put one clawed hand on the man’s shoulder. He turned his eyes to the men on the ground. “You need to watch.” He turned to Natirah. “You need to watch as well. You need to witness.”

“Who do you think you’re trying to intimidate, animal?” The captive leader surged in anger. “Do you think you’re protecting your misbegotten race? We’ll wipe you out eventually.”

“I’m not a hero,” Scott said to him. “I’m not better than you. My pack has killed humans and werewolves and wendigoes and things I don’t have names for. But they all share one thing in common. They walked into the shadows willingly. They didn’t care who they dragged in there with them. They didn’t think that maybe once they went into that darkness that there might be no getting out. They walked in and they found that in the shadows, there’s always something more dangerous than they thought they were.”

“There’s always my pack.” He looked up at those of them who were standing there. “We can’t leave. For one reason or another, we found our home in the place where blood and claws and death are the only rules. Tonight, we won and you lost.” 

“Who the fuck do you think you are, you deranged lunatic?” The man shouted at him. 

“Who am I?” Scott said out loud. “I am the Alpha of Alphas.” 

Kali rolled her eyes. Ethan turned to the other prisoners and snarled for them to get on their feet.

“I am the apex of apex predators!” Scott hadn’t ever actually heard these words spoken by the man who wrote them. But he knew a good speech even when he heard it secondhand. They told him that he couldn’t quite get the bellow as loud as the previous one who spoke these words, and would never speak them again. But Scott’s pack did tell him he was convincing; they were his words now.

“I am the last part of me!” Scott tore the lead hunter’s head off his body with a clean jerk. Ethan and the other alphas made the other would-be hunters run. From his position, Stiles cackled loudly; he always took so much enjoyment from this particular part. It was the thing that Scott always remembered the most when these things ended. The way Stiles always laughed as if he was truly happy. It made Scott feel good. 

**“I am the Demon Wolf.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oshietekudasai! Anata wa nanimonodesu ka?" -- "Please tell me! What are you?"


End file.
